A Time to Live - a Time to Die

It is a season of death and today, the message and reminder came to roost.

We are watching the world around us wither away and die, and although this death is characterized by brilliant colors, even as those colors peak the sounds and sights and smells of life are changing, drying, withering, and disappearing, life ebbing away.

Tuesday morning I had to be to work earlier than usual so took my dog out to walk in the pitch-darkness of October's pre-dawn.  A huge storm was encroaching upon us, massive hurricane-like winds predicted, sustained over the next 36 hours or so. It was raining a little, and the wind was nearly still.

As we walked among the scattered wet leaves, as the rain fell upon us, as we made our way in the darkness, I took note of the stillness. I reflected upon the fact that I could not hear the birds chirping anymore; they had all fled. Weeks ago. Each day seemed to be more silent than the last.

The only sound other than the wind in the trees, was our footsteps, but even those were muffled in the wet darkness that encompassed us. I stopped to let my dog sniff at a particularly interesting tree (to her, anyway), sensing the approach of the monster storm, feeling the pressure, my hands aching, sometimes sending piercing pain up my arms, like nails at the base of my wrists.

A piercing pain suddenly shot through my ankle and I had to limp the block back home, through our silent and apparently-sleeping townhome complex.

I was reminded that every day, we are dying, too.

In the summer, even the mourning doves sing when a storm approaches, but even they are silent now, having fled the oncoming Minnesota winter.

The geese, usually so vocal during those early morning hours, remained mute, not daring to take to the skies. It was too dark to see them in the nearby field where they normally gathered, but I knew they were there, hunkering down, staying together.

Even the crows, those carrion eaters so ubiquitous especially in late summer through fall and winter, often aggressive in their presence had nary a caw to offer.

Ah, yes, the season of death makes its true advent. Ahead of the violence of the storm, all are silent, as if awaiting the judgment to come, taking the opportunity of the rapidly decreasing barometric pressure to be a sign to lay low and wait; which, for we humans, tends to call us to reflection and repentance.

We can learn a lot from the behavior of animals; from their presence and from their absence.

It's been very dark and dreary these last several days, and between yesterday and today, the midwest has been terribly battered by a massive storm doing massively bad things to people and property.

And in the midst of this terrible storm, a friend and volunteer of mine received his own earthly judgment.

Is it a time to live? Or a time to die? 

He came in to talk to me tonight, his demeanor grim, but...mundane. He's not an alarmist, but even in crisis has the patient air of someone who has been through everything. Something about his expression tonight, about the tone in his voice told me that his request to talk to me was of priority and could not wait. It didn't matter that five other people were waiting to speak with me regarding their also very important questions or comments or business. Or that several others came to wait in the crowd needing attention.

Last year he was diagnosed with cancer and although had given a commitment for his volunteer work, he wasn't sure if and when he could show up as scheduled. He wanted to be present as much as he could. We needed him and of course, he wanted to continue his life as much as his cancer treatments would allow. Everyone was praying for him, and when his cancer went into remission, we all rejoiced with him.

Recently, he revealed they thought his cancer had come back and they were, of course, "doing some tests". They weren't sure yet.

But tonight...tonight, he gave me the update, and he got the news only today:  9 weeks to 11 months left.

Not "left until the last chemo treatment" or "left until he gets to go on vacation", but...left.  As in the end of earthly life.

The cancer has spread to his brain, and now he's having seizures. They are minor ones limited to appendages, but they could manifest in any way. He had to talk about "A Plan", at the behest of his doctor, because he intended to continue in his service. I considered asking if he'd rather not, but of course, I know this man; he'd rather die in the traces for he was happy in his life of service and prayer. I did ask him what his plan was (in case he wanted an easy way to say he wanted to step down), but no, he is going to push through, and was going to talk to his class so that they would know what to do if he "went down".

The entire conversation was surreal, and although I knew other people were gathering, needing things, asking questions, it didn't matter. It was as if we were in a pocket of silence, and oddly, people didn't insist on intruding as they normally do. It's as if they somehow knew that this conversation was, quite literally, life and death.

I knew he would not have wanted tears, and by God's grace, they were kept at bay as I focused on the tasks at hand for his behalf.  As soon as he left the office, I fielded all the others who were there, and ran up and down the hallway, making decisions, taking care of business; all those things required of my job.

As if I hadn't just heard the most devastating news, knowing the friend we were losing, wondering how we would handle this, help him and respond to the grief of all those who will be touched by this. Wondering who to tell, who not to tell.

Having to remain silent about this news, even with other volunteers, until my co-workers knew, and my superior was busy in another part of the building.

I had to be silent about this terrible, devastating news of terminal cancer of a man who only recently lost his brother to the same disease.

After I had handled all the "fires", I went into my office and sent out prayer requests, blinking back tears. There was no time for tears; there was work to be done. It didn't matter that people would sympathize and want to pray for the man; it wasn't the time. Among the living, work must be done on behalf of the living, and right now, my friend is still living. He's tough; he would not want to see sorrow, but hope.

He doesn't want pity, but prayers for God's will for him.

If nothing else, he needs time to truly come to terms with the news of his terminal status, and even with that, find a place for hope that maybe it is not yet so; he is not ready to leave for eternity.

But yes, it's hard, and this evening was a hard evening. I was thankful for the "busy-ness" of it for it kept me from being able to reflect upon my own sorrow by redirecting me to the needs of others in that moment. It allowed me to retain a professional demeanor so that I could respond to some other very serious needs without being emotional about any of them.  I could smile and joke and pretend to be normal, having received a blow that was anything BUT normal.

I don't know what's going to happen. It's possible that his cancer will again go into remission. That IS possible and his doctor is doing all he can and my friend is holding on to this hope even in the face of the honesty he may not be with us in this earthly pilgrimage for much longer.

As devastating as this news is, I so love that he is determined to not let anything change. He is continuing to live his life as he is able and I am humbled at the humility he is exhibiting as he passes through this dark valley. I am humbled by his family, through their prayer for him in Eucharistic Adoration.  I am humbled by his own faithful witness in the face of this news and, truth be told, it was his own strength and no-nonsense attitude that  kept my own emotions at bay tonight.

Before he left, I gave him a hug and promised prayers, not just from me, but from all those I know.

Please pray for him. I can't tell you his name or where he is or anything that identifies him, but know he is a faithful Catholic, a dedicated father and grandfather, a retired teacher, a volunteer, friend to more souls than one can count, a mourner, a cheerleader (if more along the lines of a drill sergeant), a man of deep prayer, a man of deep faith who knows that death doesn't erase dignity, but only carries it to a higher place; one that is eternal.

Right now, he is embracing his time to live, if only to prepare for his time to die.

God's will be done.

Grace in Humiliation

I gotta admit it; I am terrified to pray for the virtue of humility.

Why?

Every time I made the attempt, I was knocked so hard on my backside that to THIS DAY I still have not been able to recover! Just mention "humility" and I begin to shake and shudder and drool then foam at the mouth in sheer terror in anticipation of what anvil is next to drop.

God, of course, cannot be taken by surprise and so, in seeing such sheer terror, He finds other ways to reveal to us the true nature of humility, and in fact, finds gentle humiliations in order to best reveal to us the divine Grace available through such abjection.

The Unwitting Act of Offense

Recently, in a conversation with others, something I said was misconstrued. I did not know at the time that what I was trying to convey was being taken into left field without my permission or intention, but there it was; that is the nature of human interaction. I remember catching the expressions on a couple of those present and wondered about what bad thing they were smelling, but as they never pulled me aside to explain that I was the source of their sour expressions, I ultimately thought nothing of it.

A few days later, a friend who had been absent that day left me a voice mail, asking for a call back, explaining that party A and B (the same ones who had housed sour expressions) had spoken with her and said that I had dropped her name a few times but not in a pleasant way.

Completely taken aback, I hung up the phone and prayed. I recalled mentioning her name, but NEVER in a derogatory way. I racked my memory, trying to ascertain what had gone so wrong for some people to have taken my intention so badly.

Of course, I immediately called her back to ask what she had heard, and I was thankful that she did not sound angry, only....questioning. In fact, her own tone was joyful, forgiving and welcoming, not contrived but in total sincerity.

It didn't take long to sort out the misunderstanding and as it turned out, she completely understood my original intention and, in fact, AGREED with me!  We had a wonderful conversation, and, a few days later when we met again, she made it a point to seek me out to thank me for calling her back to reconcile the issue.

Humiliation

When I'd first heard of what others I'd thought were friends had accused me of doing (behind my back) I had felt very betrayed.  I wondered...why hadn't they just come to me or called me out on the spot?

Why?  Why didn't they ask me to clarify or even, if they were such good friends to that person, "stood up" for her if they thought I was insulting her?

I was taken aback that they had instead chosen to be subversive, both assuming the worst of me and my intentions, then apparently through their own actions, making it worse through gossip?  And wasn't their own indignant refusal to engage with me, the offender, an outright betrayal to THEIR friend?

It was in speaking with the "allegedly offended" friend and the subsequent reconciliation that I realized the Grace God had provided to us both, especially when we were in each other's company again.

Real Grace

When I had time to reflect upon the events of the previous days, and the links and even disunity in our relationships, I knew that what we had experienced wasn't anything new or rare or novel; it went all the way back to Genesis.

Sin always drives a wedge in between relationships, and usually that wedge is quite self-righteous. It's very easy for us to justify our gossip to another person about someone else. We claim we are "clearing the air" or informing someone of something they need to know about. (In this case, that applied, although they went in the wrong direction with it and the "offended" is the one who set it right!).  Oh, yes, we just LOVE driving wedges around, we sorry, fallen children of God. It's our favorite hobby, such that we can say it is our second nature to do so!

Think about it, though....when one person starts with something... where does it stop?

Read the Bible: it didn't stop. Even after the Passion, Death, and Resurrection of Christ, it didn't stop.  We were redeemed, but, well....the wound of sin continues even in those who try to be or believe they are holy.

We all struggle. We all fall. We all damage those we claim to love, and what is most horrible, we do so in the name of "Holiness" and "Truth"! What is often lacking there is "Prudence" and "Basic common sense", and actually, the Divine Virtue of, well.... CHARITY.

You know what really stopped me in my tracks, though, in this whole mess?  

The ONE friend, the one who was allegedly the "target" of whatever I had said, and thus the one offended, was the ONLY one to call me and ask for the truth.

No one from the gossipy peanut gallery who was offended FOR her called me out. THEY slunk away like Templeton and took their perceived but not edited-for-truth version to our mutual friend, telling her of my (apparently intended) insult to her.

Thankfully, that "offended" friend knew me well enough to question what she was hearing and was certain there had to be an explanation. Therefore, instead of wallowing in it as our other mutual friends had done, she picked up the phone and...[get this!]...CALLED me to ASK for my side of the story!

I was nearly in tears when I called her back, horrified that I had inadvertently done something to insult her in another's eyes. She didn't see those blinked-back tears, but I know she heard the horror in my voice and was nothing other than gracious.

I can't tell you how grateful I was for her understanding, and even the love apparent in her initial call. I can't tell you how grateful I was to have been forgiven the unintended offense.

The Heart of the Matter

It was beautiful to be forgiven, but what I really have had to take away from this experience was this:  I have to forgive, too. 

This is a message that came to me even in the middle of that mess, from another friend who knew NOTHING of the matter that so plagued me.

This other, unknowing, friend spoke of St. Therese' of Lisieux, who rejoiced upon learning her flaws, and spoke even more of the unexpected humiliations, of remaining silent in the face of unjust accusations and assumptions.

Ah, yes, she was speaking to me.

I was, even then, harboring resentment against those who had so dishonestly and subversively accused me of wrongdoing, assuming the worst of me, and taking that sordid tale to the friend who, according to them, I was TRYING to harm, and quite publicly at that.

It's hard NOT to harbor resentment when accused behind one's back.

Yet even in that initial conversation, it was clear my friend thought the best of them, and the best of me, and in so doing, was taking the advice of the Saints to heart:  to always think the best of others, and speak the best of them.

This is no easy thing to do, and yet, there I was, the offender (if without intent) yet still the recipient of such divine charity.

Who am I, then, to hold resentment against my own accusers?  Shouldn't I, then, think the best of them? Assume that their intent was not one of gossip but of charity, even if they, like me, carried it out imperfectly?

Should I not also be first in line to forgive an unintended offense?

Yet I didn't; I did to my accusers what they did to me, if in a different way.

And because our sins are hidden from each other, they can be reconciled at this point only through God, and healed only through God, and through our behavior towards each other, and our prayers for each other.

Perhaps I must go out of my way to ask them to pray for me; they are indeed prayerful people, good Catholics, people I want as my friends. I only hope they still want me as their friend as well.

Yes, there is grace in humiliation; were it not for this, I would not have recognized the strength of one friendship and the weakness in myself so clearly.

It really, truly takes only a simple act of friendship to save many relationships and to bring us all closer to Christ.

That's what holiness is all about.

I thank God for my friends every day. Whoever you are, wherever you are, please do the same. You never know who has your back until you are the one to be scourged.

Deep Thoughts With Adoro

I have been pondering friendship the last couple days, very grateful for my many friends, all those present locally,  those I met through the internet (blogging, etc.), and those I have yet to meet in person.

What's so wonderful is how many of them want to be Saints, are striving every day for holiness, and many times without even realizing it they are dragging me kicking and screaming with them.  (Other times I just let myself be dragged!).

This pondering made me realize, though, that none are without fault. Although admittedly some of my friends have faults that are less apparent, none would ever yet claim to be saints...and if they did we'd laugh at them!  :-)

So as I pondered, I realized that true friendship consists in people who put up with each other's faults and imperfections as gently as necessary, and as firmly as needed...and they are always there when you need them.

Thank you, to all my friends, for helping me to try to be as holy as I ought, for not slamming me when I'm down in my weakness, and for helping me to be a better friend to you.

God bless you.

Gorgeous Blogger Award

I am very touched to learn that MONIALES OP has tagged me for the Gorgeous Blogger Award! Last summer I visited their monastery and have to say that I wished I'd had some of that very interesting information while I was there!

While they gave 6 little-known facts about their monastery, as I don't live in one I wonder if maybe I should give some little-know facts about my house?

Nah. My house is boring. It consists of walls and a roof and is basically a really expensive box I bought to keep my stuff in to ensure I'll be up to my eyeballs in debt for about 1,000 years after my death.

OK, so, six little-known facts about me:

1. I sang "La Bamba" and "Stand By Me" with a Blues Band in Puerto Escondido, Mexico. This was not karaoke, but an actual performance, albeit impromptu. The irony of singing "La Bamba" as an American in Mexico was not lost on me even while I did it.

2. I have been to the Shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe in Mexico City twice, once in 1994 and once in 1996. I did not see the actual site of the apparitions, and was not actually a practicing Catholic at the time. Yet...it wasn't a waste. God knew what He was doing.

3. I was awarded "Rookie of the Year" for the Ski Patrol. It was an honor, and completely blew me away. Doesn't mean a lot now and I doubt anyone remembers. I rarely do.

4. I can only cut my own bangs a couple times before it looks like a hack job and I can't delay a good haircut any longer. As a result I only get a professional cut about twice per year.

5. Only brush with fame:

While in college I was assigned to a "mystery" security detail; my superiors asked for assistance and wouldn't tell me why. Curious, I said yes. My directions: Show up at the station at X time, but dress as a college student. Leave your uniform at home. When I arrived I was granted the temporary title of "Special Agent" and informed that an Investigator and I were part of Maya Angelou's official Security Detail.

We went to a particular location owned by the University that was hosting her and my specific job was to meet her vehicle, show my official ID and badge, and direct her driver to follow us to the official venue. Due to several circumstances they were late and her people called our people and asked us to meet directly AT the venue. We entered, made sure there was not an uprising or protest, walked among the crowds and remained vigilant with pre-set signals should any trouble arise. We learned during this time that Ms. Angelou did not sign autographs (her own personal practice of trying to maintain humility), so were surprised at the end to be summoned backstage. She wanted to thank the people who had been ensuring her safety.

I had NO IDEA what I was going to say. I was just a dumb college student meeting someone I'd studied briefly in a class, never expecting to actually come into contact with her! She greeted everyone in turn and I said the same inane thing others had said, "It was a pleasure hearing you speak." She shook my hand, glanced at me a moment, paid me a compliment with a soft smile, greeted the few behind me and then went on her way.

While driving back to school that night, I mused, "My friend Lita is going to DIE when I tell her I met her heroine! And I have NOTHING to say other than I shook her hand!"

I have never told a single soul what Ms. Angelou said to me that evening.

6. I hate talking on the phone, especially since my 5 years in Insurance with a phone attached to my head, whether I was in the office or "on the road" looking at cars. Email is preferred because that way I can deal with it when I feel like it and don't have to dial a bunch of code to get to a long message that never ends.... (much like the nature of my blog...)

TAGGING....

Charlene Duline at Prodigal Catholic Writer - A woman leading outreach to imprisoned Priests! God bless you!

Kiwi Nomad - Kiwi has great photos and commentary and you should check out her work and story.

Tina at Jake's Takes - Jake has great takes! (Jake is a Basset Hound) Please help Tina with his particular need....

Fr. Charles at A Minor Friar - I always learn something from him, especially his charity, in the proper theological sense.

Uncle Jim - Whom I miss and want to see again! (And has an epic story going on...)

Passionist Nuns at In the Shadow of His Wings - As I was tagged by a Monastery, it is fitting to tag another, especially because I have a friend there! God bless her and them and please keep all Religious Sisters in your prayers!

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Diagnosis

Today, finally, I met with my spiritual director. I will admit, I didn't want to go. Again, I found myself in the situation of not wanting to tell him what I had to say. Sure, I knew he'd be understanding, but it has to do with things that are hard for ME to talk about. Which, of course, means that they are exactly the things that need to be discussed.

He knew some of what was going on as I'd sent him a word document with my last appointment request, a reflection I'd written that pretty much stated, at the core, some of my position. But it didn't say everything...a few things were held in reserve. I couldn't even WRITE them, but knew I had to STATE them when the time came.

God's grace. Always, His grace.

Our discussion was fruitful and dredged up something that has long been a problem. It's not really the first time it has come up, but this time, he saw something in this that points to something else. Something lacking in my life.

Suddenly he asked me, "Can you get away, even for a day? Find a retreat? Just...get away?"

I had immediate excuses...work schedule, grad school...ie if I "get away" my books come with me, thus rendering the retreat not a retreat. He understood, of course.

In hearing his suggestion, initially I was thinking, "I just WENT on a few retreats! I haven't been back that long!" I confess, though, that I wish I could take another weekend away in the silence and solitude of the monastery. The cost might be a problem as this wouldn't be a discernment retreat anymore, but I was already shrugging his suggestion off, anyway.

Our discussion continued, and near the end of our time, he restated that I should find the time to just...get away. Not to discern, not to "do" something, but to just get away from "HERE", meaning everything in my life. Get a new perspective. Get away.

"You need something to look forward to," he said, glancing at me appraisingly. "Everyone needs something to look forward to."

He's right.

It took me awhile to see it, but in reflecting on our conversation, I remembered he was asking me what I see in my future, the things going on in my life. Essentially...What's going on in my life that has any real meaning? I cited work, which we discussed is just a job, not a calling or a career, I cited grad school, to end in May, graduation in June, God willing. But...then what? Sure I look forward to graduating, but it's not attached to anything but a piece of paper and a lot of debt. And I have this job that can't pay the loan....

I said it without explicitly stating it: I have nothing to look forward to.

I have nothing to work toward. I don't know my Vocation, I don't know what to do with the grad degree I'm working on and I'm stuck.

"Go visit your friends in Ohio!" my SD exclaimed. "Go! They'll be good for you!"

Dunce that I am, I still left his office thinking of the impossibility of "getting away" right now. Stretched ahead of me I see few free weekends, no time off, just work and school and family for Thanksgiving, and then the insanity of Christmas, then back for my last semester of school. Get "away?" I'd LOVE to! I LOVE my dear Ohio (and Indiana!) friends! I WANT to go back to Ohio!

But of course, as good spiritual direction goes, the important message eventually kicks in.

D'OH!

Of COURSE! Get away!

Sure, first he suggested a retreat, which would be nice, but there's no way I could go on a retreat and not turn it into discernment. I have this problem of needing to make everything "useful".

What my SD sees is that what I really need is what I'm COMPLETELY lacking in my life: fun.

There's no fun. Anywhere. Everything is compartmentalized. Everything is regimented, and my free time...is still dedicated to the "hum-ho" of life. It's not exactly "fun". Oh, sure there are the occasional weekend evenings with friends, but out of months at a time of intensity, what is a few hours of friendly escape? Just a drop in the bucket and that drop is too small to even create a ripple.

He's right. The reason I've been so danged depressed is that I have no goals, I have nothing to look forward to, nothing to plan and "romance".

It's so completely obvious I can't believe I didn't see it.

So...am looking at the calender. Am not sure how I'm going to pay for it with so much debt, but if God wills it, I am going to Ohio, I will figure out how to pay for it (seriously, the plane ticket is usually not THAT expensive), and I'm looking forward to seeing my friends again!

Of course, looking forward is much easier when the date is actually circled on the calender and the plane ticket is being located....

Oh, I need this......

The email has been sent to my friends.....oh, now planning the adventure is underway.....

A Couple Observations

Love/Hate

Have you ever noticed that the things that bug you MOST about other people are also those things that are most endearing? A co-worker and I discussed this today. We have another co-worker who has certain traits that drive us CRAZY, yet when she is absent, we chuckle over them and I realized today that if she DIDN'T do those things...she wouldn't be, well....her! She wouldn't be who she is.

This made me realize that if she left, the things I would remember most fondly about her would be the stuff that drives me crazy now.

When I think back to old friendships, loved ones who have left for eternity, I remember their crazy quirks for those are the things that remain ingrained in my memory, and I thank God for giving them a facet of their personality that will ensure they will never be forgotten.

Priestly Vocations

I keep hearing this crazy myth that young men aren't interested in the priesthood anymore. Have you heard this myth, too?

What amazes me is that, well...it simply isn't true. Part of my job is to assist with interviewing candidates for Confirmation, and as part of that we discuss vocational discernment. Nearly every young man I have interviewed has expressed an interest in the priesthood, albeit some are more serious than others. I always encourage them to pursue where God is calling them and I speak positively about the seminary and the priesthood in general. I also point out to them, if they seem hesitant, that the seminary is just a beginning and that God will lead them. I also speak positively of marriage, of course.

It's always a short conversation and once it's done, I don't return to it, never wanting to pressure anyone. But I find most girls have looked into or think they would consider religious life, or would like more information about it, although the difference for them is that they leave it at "consideration." Overwhelmingly most girls believe they are called to marriage and if pressed to make a decision "now", they would say marriage. Why? They don't know enough about religious life. They don't know any Sisters although they think it's interesting.

There is no "Vocations Crisis".

Vocations are alive and well...the crisis is in the fact we have dropped the ball and haven't presented to our young people all of their options.

It is something we're working on in my place of employment, and if these kids being interviewed are honest, well, it is working. Seeds are being planted. We are doing a lot to promote the priesthood, but it's an uphill battle to promote religious life...simply because it isn't very visible. We can only do so much. A speaker here and there isn't sufficient.

Priests are witnesses by their very presence, immediately identifiable. We don't have Brothers and Sisters running around in habits to provide that same kind of witness. (We don't have any Sisters and Brothers WITHOUT habits running around here, either.) Even with the things we do to expose the kids to religious life, well, if it's not visible in the Church as a whole (in their experience) then it will never be enough to just talk about it on one evening of their life.

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We have to do more.

Surpassing Understanding

Working in a parish is not the same as work in the secular world.

In all the secular jobs I've had, although I remember many co-workers fondly, there was nothing other than the job the really bonded us. As it is, I've not stayed in contact with...well...anyone with whom I've worked in the past. The "friendships" were superficial and incidental, and even those who did remain friends for a time are no longer in my life for one reason or another.

Some of this has to do with my own conversion and having to take a moral stand with regard to one friend's "living will". (She and I were friends for years...that stance caused her to slam the door on our friendship.)

Others were really just not deep enough to last beyond our common employment.

Working in a parish, as I mentioned, is different.

It's not just "a job". Certainly, the actual work involved is definitely "a job". It's paperwork and organization (blech) and coordinating (blech again!) and tedium and a whole bunch of things I do especially when I know I have no idea what I'm doing, why I'm doing it, or how to go about it.

But there's more: there's the people. Catholics just like me. People at various stages in their spiritual life. People who love Our Lord and are doing their best to follow Him.

Working in a parish has softened me. In the past, on my blog, in my angry post-conversion stage I did what a lot of people do; I ripped and shredded people in their ignorance of our faith. In fact, I still do this, but with much less frequency now and even less hostility.

Well, now...I see the cause of that, and the futility of all the ripping and roaring of the blogosphere. Firstly, the people with no faith aren't reading the blogs. Thank God! If they did, they'd run away forever! (We ALL need to learn to hold our tongues!)

I've had the privilege, since starting this position, of speaking to people one to one, and some have had very real, deep questions and are simply in want of a little discussion, maybe even support. Others have been outright hostile, not understanding that living and sharing their faith is, in fact, a baptismal DEMAND upon us. They've been done a disservice in the lack of education they've received, don't know the first thing about what it means to be Catholic and they're confused, angry, hurt, grieving...a thousand things. They don't need harsh words. They need someone to listen and understand.

(They also don't need someone to water down the teachings of the Church, only deliver those teachings gently and with proper timing. I'm still learning this lost art.)

I've also learned that working in a parish actually DIMINISHES my "power" in the eyes of those who attend that parish. Those who don't work for the Church are in fact a bigger voice than any of us who function within the confines of religious education.

For example, if I go up in front of a group of people and say, with references, that we are obligated to attend Mass EVERY Sunday and Holy Day of Obligation, people want to know who I am to DARE to suggest they can't just "decide" whether they are "obligated" on their own. Yet if a fellow parishioner stands in front of them and says the same thing, they hear the voice as "non-authoritative" and therefore, someone to be believed. Thus, if I and that person are on the same page, the teaching has more credibility.

And of course, I've discussed in depth in other posts that if Father says something....it's golden. Even if they don't like it. Because he's Father. They might vilify me, they might vilify the other parishioner, but even if they vilify Father, they take his words to heart. That's a fact.

It really is like a big family of discombobulated siblings, some of whom don't get along, and others that do and form a united front and in fact, carry the rest of the family, rebellious or ambivalent, with their loving and fruitful labors.

As a parish employee, I get to know about 1% of that parish very well, because they're the people I actually SEE all the time. The good thing is that, where I work, that 1% is STELLAR, faithful, prayerful, and they're dragging me kicking and screaming on my way to holiness.

Having just come off of a very large unwieldy project as of today, I can honestly say that if it weren't for a few solid volunteers, everything would have crashed. And not just because one person simply doesn't have the ability to do it all, but because these people see and know my weaknesses and leap in to save me and the project. They've been carrying me and the program all week long.

It comes down to that common goal; wanting the good of others. It's natural to want to jump in and help when the ship is sinking. That's what they do.

I joked with a friend this week that I was really just a figurehead leader, but really....that wasn't a joke. I can't lead myself or organize myself out of a wet paper bag which has been ripped open on both sides and open in the middle.

Yes, I worked hard and did my best, but my best, to stay with the sinking ship metaphor, is a small plastic bucket with a large hole in the middle.

It's the people at this parish that made this week's program work. People I genuinely like and am enjoying getting to know better. And these very same people go out of their way to let me know they're praying for me, willing to help with anything I need...etc.

Working for a parish is, then, both a curse and a blessing. It's an experience of the suffering and the glory of the Cross, lived out within its shadow in ways most people could never understand. I barely understand it myself.

But I'm grateful. I love the teens who volunteer and do so much to make things work, I love the children who love others so easily and quickly, I love the adults who, in their watchful guidance not only guide the programs, but we, as staff, as well.

Direction

Maybe one of the things that's hard for me is "management". I don't like being a manager, and yet, people, volunteers, are coming to me and asking what I want to have happen. They are looking to my authority, and I stand back, amazed, thinking, "You're FAR more qualified to run this than I am!"

But I have to do my job, and yes, I do have a vision and am humbled by the people coming to me for direction as to what to do next. I'm humbled by their willingness to do so much...for nothing.

And I'm so grateful to know these people. Had I turned down this position, I would never have met them. They've changed my life, they've brought me closer to God and yes, they are friends. Not superficial friends, but friends in Christ, and that's an entirely different thing.

Amazing

You all know my financial situation, which is like that of many parish workers; in the summer we lose hours. Yet, of all the people in my life who know of this situation, NONE have suggested I leave this position and find another, something more stable. It seems that everyone understands, at some level, that working in a parish isn't the same thing as working in the secular world. They might not understand how low the pay is and the reality of not having a living wage, but they don't suggest quitting.

There is something more here than just a job.

I won't be in this position forever. Whether I am called to religious life or not, there is one thing that I don't question: and that is that my current job is temporary. I WILL be moving on, if only because I can't live on it and will be forced to do SOMETHING.

Truth be told, I considered quitting a year ago, and a few times since then. Granted our economic climate and 10% unemployment rate has affected my decision to stay a little, but the fact remains that...this job isn't about me.

When I worked in Insurance, while our efforts were team efforts and customer-focused, it was all about the money. No one worked there just for the heck of it. People don't go to an Insurance Company and volunteer to do stuff for free. While other "careers" I've had were done in a search for something meaningful, it was the same thing..the money element was there.

What I realized last year, though, and even more so now that it's almost been two years, is that, in some strange way, this parish needs me. Not because I'm special or a saint or an expert. But because they are in need of stability. They've had a lot of change in the time before I came, and even now, they beg me not to leave any time soon.

That's not about me, personally. It's not a song of my glory. It has to do with their need for stability, consistent staff, not having to constantly evaluate the status or orthodoxy (or lack thereof!) of new people. Right now, the parishioners know what to expect from myself and those in our office. We work well together. We work with Father well, and even in conflicts, peace reigns in spite of frustrations.

Even though I'm almost completely incompetent, these people know me and have expressed they want me to stay. Some of this has been voiced out of a desire to not have any more "change". For others, it's been more personal, and I'm grateful for that. We all need to know we're valued in some way.

I've written a lot here, as usual, but I think I could write an entire book and STILL fail to explain adequately what keeps me at that parish. Suffice to say, perhaps, that it is Our Lord. He calls, He places, He draws us together and helps us to be faithful. We work together not for our good, but for the good of all, for the good of each other.

So often I walk down the hall to the church to spend some time with Jesus, pray for help, or even a little support, and apologize to Him for being such a bad servant. There I am, working in His own House and even in my unfaithfulness, in my doubt, things end up working out. People step in to fill my weaknesses. In that, He is glorified.

I know that everything of God is far bigger than any of us. I know that the project of this week was so far beyond any of us that we can never fathom the eternal consequences and graces.

This week was brutal, but it was clear that God was present, held the entire thing in His hand, and I even "felt" His hand on me at times.

I need to remember those moments in times when I don't understand what I'm doing. Every little thing is for Him, and ultimately, about Him.

I'm grateful no one has suggested I just quit my job. I don't want to. Even as I grumble and procrastinate and stress out, I've never had a job that has so revealed the heart of Christ. I've never before had a job that brought me so easily and quickly to my knees.

I've never before had a job that hit me so hard in ALL of my weaknesses, forcing me to see how God works...because I simply cannot.

And everything that happens belongs to His Glory.

Apparently this lesson was so important for me to learn and continue to learn that God called me into a parish to learn it. They say that the Church is a hospital for sinners. I'm a permanent resident.

That's what it means to work for God, and not for the world.

It's a terrible, frustrating, agonizing, glorious and joyful experience and I'm grateful to God for this experience and for the people who have truly made me realize what it means to die to myself in order to live for others.

This is only the tip of the iceberg....

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Introducing...Are You Ready....?

...a new blog on the block, Lay Mystagogues. 

These guys, Jack and Andy,  are dear friends of mine (although I always get their names mixed up for some reason). They've got a lot to say about the Church today, about the Liturgy, the importance of the Liturgy, and seriously, if you're a serious Catholic with any opinion at all, you might find some discussion here.  

If you like Fr. Z., you should be following Jack and Andy, Lay Mystagogues.  In fact, Jack and Andy are a lot like Fr. Z. in a different canonical and juridical state.  Except they haven't yet started the art of fisking articles, they're not ordained, they don't reside in Rome, no one knows who they are, and they don't have degrees in theology. But still...the resemblance is uncanny.  

And, guys, Andy and Jack...a word of advice from an experienced blogger...don't let your commenters get out of hand.  YOU set the standard for snark, and if they get snarkier than you, shut it down.  If they get holier than you...count yourself blessed.  (The latter is what you're going for!)  

Welcome to the Blogosphere, St. Blog's Parish, and every other pop-word out there for the latest craze!  

Everyone go visit these yahoos and show them your heartfelt support!  

:-D 

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The Value of a Good Friend

Earlier this Century, I broke up with my boyfriend: the guy I thought I loved and wanted to marry. And yes, I was the one who broke up with HIM, not the other way around. I took this drastic action because some guyfriends of mine made me realize that I was not loved. Or respected.

It wasn't in what they said, or even that they knew my situation. Rather, I was struck by the look in their eyes when these two friends in particular spoke of, respectively, whether their wife or their fiance', making it clear that this woman was the center of their life.

My boyfriend didn't even have that look when he looked directly AT me.

At one point, my own boyfriend had spoken of a past girlfriend of his own, and how he had broken up with her because he realized that she didn't think of him at all. Touche'. He did the same thing to me. It wasn't because he was bad to me; it was because he didn't think of me at all.

So I knew, thanks to my guy friends, that it was time to move on, because I deserved better.

(In fact, I'll always have a special place in my heart for men from Georgia, and southern gentlemen in general thanks to these two friends. Even in friendship, they treated me with the respect they would have given a queen!)

Shattered

That breakup was a very low point in my life, and made that much worse when I met the new girlfriend. She was astonishingly like me in many ways.

Actually, it was downright disturbing.

If we stood next to each other, we'd be mistaken as sisters. She had glasses like mine, hair like mine, an attitude like mine, a personality like mine. Her car...very similar to mine.

She was prettier than I was, though, and that lead me to the next point in my thought process...she was an "upgrade". My ex-boyfriend had taken a "step up" from me.

Yes, I honestly felt that way, which is something I'm quite ashamed to admit.

I still loved him, you see, and I truly wanted him to be happy, just as I desired to be happy. And I knew that I'd let him go for good reason, but it wasn't a hateful breakup. To this day, I don't "hate" my ex, although I'm saddened that I'll never get those 3 1/2 years of my life back. That wasn't entirely his fault. I was complicit in that relationship.

But I still felt like a doormat, and I was really trying to put on a brave face when I joked feebly, to my friends,"Well, at least he's upgrading from me. At least she's a step up."

But my joke was transparent to my friends, and they saw that it wasn't really a joke, and that I really did believe that she was better than I was in all ways. They knew how I had felt about him, and how devastated I really was, because, let's face it: it's never easy to break up with someone. Especially when we thought we'd spend our lives with that person.

I was trying to joke, but my biggest weakness betrayed me; I have always worn my heart on my sleeve. So I did even then.

One Sunday afternoon,the Sunday I learned via email that my ex was engaged to the "upgrade", my roommate and friend, Anne, couldn't take it any longer. I'd made another crack about my ex-boyfriend's now-fiance (at the time, 6 months after our breakup), while we were watching "When Harry Met Sally".

Anne hit the "stop" button on the remote and declared, "I can't take it anymore! You make me SO ANGRY!" She proceeded to confront me on my behavior and my self-denigrating comments and finished with, "Any step away from you is a step down!"

We were BOTH crying by that point, and even today that memory brings tears. I thank God for Anne, and for that conversation. All of us need time, sometimes, to wallow in a bit of self-pity, but when it goes too far, we need help to get out of that hole. She made me face what I was doing, and made me face the fact that I wasn't just hurting myself, but my friends as well, who cared for me and had seen this coming for a very long time.

She had courage to face me like that, and to make me face myself. A friendship like that...that's real. That's amazing.

That's what God intended

God doesn't give us friends who aid and abet us in self-destruction. He gives us friends that call us to holiness, to remember our dignity and our value. And He calls us to do the same thing for the people we claim as our friends. Maybe that means having hard conversations. Maybe that means the possibility of losing a friendship.

But if we don't speak up to those we truly love....who will? Sometimes we're all they have.

I can tell you this much: at that time, I didn't have any other friends like Anne in my life. She was my lifeline, and I think she's the ONLY one who saw clearly what I was doing to myself. Had she not spoken up, I don't know where I would have gone from there or how far I would have descended.

Look around at the people in your life, and ask yourself if God is asking you to be that kind of friend. You might be the ONLY voice of reason and love in someone's life. Don't miss that chance. A simple conversation, spoken in sincerity, can literally change a person's life.

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Headless Chicken

My friends, you have not LIVED until you've been chased by a headless, sqwaking chicken. 

Really.  

This might not be a post for the faint-of-heart.  Fair warning!!  

When I was a little girl, must have been pretty little, I remember riding my Big Wheel (remember those?) down the gravel road to Frank's Place, as we called it.  His nephews were staying with him that summer, and as one of the boys was about our age, we sort of absorbed them all into our neighborhood group.  

They were always nice to me, if they paid attention to me at all. As a little girl, I was usually just tagging along behind my older brother, but I liked to be in the mix, as it were, and so it placed me front and center one hot Saturday afternoon as the boys herded a chicken around the front yard of the house.  

We lived in a country neighborhood surrounded by farms, and some of our neighbors had horses (I got bucked off one neighbor's shetland pony once), but we didn't often see chickens running around. Naturally, I was fascinated. 

The boys were discussing something, and I was surprised to see one of them with an ax.  The other managed to grab one chicken, and, struggling a little, finally held his neck and his legs.  The  eldest brother, the one with the ax, asked him if he needed any help, but no, he had the chicken. 

My brother turned then, and suggested maybe I head home or go down the road for a bit  He suggested I at least move my Big Wheel.  I didn't want to go...I wanted to see what was going on.  I think someone took a toddler, Jenny, away so she wouldn't see whatever was about to happen. 

I had a bad feeling something was about to happen, but my curiosity was overwhelming.  I HAD to see and wouldn't let anyone drag me away.  If the other kids could be there, why not me?

The bigger kid with the ax glanced at me and asked if I was sure I wanted to be there, and when I nodded, he suggested I stand back. All of us took a step backward. My brother just shrugged.  Clearly, I was staying, and clearly, I didn't understand what was about to happen. 

They took the struggling, unhappy chicken and laid it on a large stump in Frank's sparse front yard, stretching its head out.  One brother held the head, another held the body, and the oldest held the ax.  

I never knew a chicken neck could stretch so much, and I was fascinated.  

The ax fell, and as soon as he struck wood, the other brothers let go. The chicken, in mad spasms, dropped to the ground, and to my horror, it started running around!  

Headless! 

And strangely enough, which I've never been able to figure out, it was still squawking!

The entire group of neighborhood kids began to scatter to get away from the insane headless chicken, which, to our way of thinking, should have been decent enough to lie down and die around that point.  

Apparently it had ONE other thing to do, though: go  chase after little curious Adoro to make sure she got a really good look. 

 

That obscene feathered monstrosity, with its flapping body and big bloody circle where the head used to be, suddenly stopped going in circles and made a beeline for me.  Now, I wasn't a particularly athletic child, but I realized I needed to RUN, and do so quickly so without a sound I ran towards my Big Wheel.  

The headless chicken was hot on my heels and all I knew is that I did. not. want. that. thing. to. TOUCH me!  I thought I might die. I knew it couldn't bite since the head was gone...but...it was supposed to be DEAD!  

I could hear the other kids laughing, and I knew the big kids who had cut off the chicken's head were watching this event with great relish, doubled-over laughing. 

I took a huge leap when I arrived at my Big Wheel, and managed to clear it in a single bound. 

I'm STILL proud of that jump...I couldn't have done that under normal circumstances and all the kids there were incredibly impressed. 

As  it was, that contraption, probably made by Fisher-Price, saved me. 

The headless chicken ran straight into one of the wheels and fell over, staggered to the side, ran in a couple lazy circles and finally decided it was most proper to lie down and die, since it didn't have its head, anyway.  

I stood back several feet, shaking, wondering what the heck had just happened. 

The other kids told me I could come back, and that the chicken wouldn't chase me anymore. They assured me he was done with his mischief.  I wasn't so sure. But finally, out of my same mad curiosity, and wondering about the group that now surrounded my Big Wheel, I moved towards it while one of the older boys pointed to the perfectly round red circle that now decorated one of the wheels.  A circle of blood.  From the chicken.  

Because the Big Wheel was mine, because the headless chicken had chased me, because my survival instinct had enabled me to leap the Big Wheel like Supergirl, and because it had left a big imprint...I was not the focus of derision, but of special devotion. The kind only a group of neighborhood kids knows about.  They looked at me, and at my Wheels, in awe.

It was my proof that, in fact, a dead chicken had chased me, and I had lived to tell about it.

The late chicken, himself, was at that time finally lying decently in the road, bleeding out through the headless portion of his body, creating quite a red puddle, some of which was soaking his feathers.  For the moment he was being ignored as the phenomena of his last act was being assessed, judged, and rendered important in our neighborhood history as one of the coolest things any of them had ever seen. 

My brother refused to ride my Big-Wheel home. I had to do it. I couldn't leave it there.  I had to ride it with that big red circle twirling around and around and around. 

As we headed home on that hot, humid summer afternoon, I still remember looking back as I rode, and at first the circle left a mark on the packed gravel road, but afterwards, it only picked up pebbles and dirt and the like.  Around and around, more and more pebbles but it only emphasized the big red splotch that had almost touched me, if my Big Wheel hadn't offered the ultimate sacrifice of being touched by the icky headless chicken.

And I peddaled harder to get away, but the bloody spot kept following. 

When I parked the Big Wheel at home, the big red mark was gleaming proudly in the sun so I just went inside, hoping maybe it wouldn't be there in the morning.  

I can't remember for how long, but that mark was there for WEEKS.  Even when the clotted red blood went away, there was a darkened circle I refused to ever touch. 

And to this day, I can't forget the headless chicken chasing me in its irrational spasms, chasing as if possessed, still squawking...still running...

* 

What?  You all look at me as if you've never HAD this experience.  What...were you all raised in the city?  

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The Lonliness of Techno-Isolation

I read a great article from National Catholic Register this weekend, and it does give food for thought:

The loneliness of modernity is the loneliness of Babel.

Its foundation is a breakdown of the means by which people enter into each others’ lives in a meaningful way, a replacement of genuine communication with superficial substitutes. Whether it is the substitution of “open relationships” for marriage or the substitution of “family TV” for time spent together, the effect is the same: The existentialist nightmare pictured in Sartre’s “No Exit” has come to pass.

We live and breathe and move through life surrounded by other people and yet remain in lonely isolation.

Perhaps the greatest culprits are the World Wide Web and the cellular phone. I have walked in on enough MSN chat conversations and looked at enough tweets and posts to know that for the most part, Internet “communication” is well described by Macbeth’s epithet: “It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” Only perhaps without the fury.

Read the entire article. My guess is that you'll agree with some points and not with others.

Technology is a good thing, but it's no substitute. I'm amazed by the people I've met via blogging, and the connections I'm making in other social networks, but I grew up without this stuff. For me, it's not a real connection unless we meet in person. Maybe the connection comes close, and certainly, there are people who are pen-pals for years, so in that case, I'd argue a real human connection.

But for most of us, our internet "friends" are superficial. They fulfill a need in some way, or, if they don't, they're gone and forgotten.

Harsh, isn't it?

It's not the way we're designed. We are made in the image of God, designed for intimacy, our society built upon something solid, not the intangible and fragile universe of computer components. When we type, real people just like us read the words, and when we read the words of others, often they have a very real impact upon us. Flamers hurt us on two levels; both because they suffer from so much hatred that it exudes from their fingertips when they can hide behind an alias or ISP, and because their words are things we'd never want to experience in real life...and yet...we do. The words in writing, I'd argue, are even WORSE than in person because we'd never hear them in person even if we knew they were there, hiding behind the eyes of our interlocutors.

But there's a problem with this social interface; it isn't real. Yes, those of us who have a certain balance in our lives recognize the humanity of others, but I'll still be the first to admit that I've spouted off online where I would have held my tongue in real life. And in that, I've realized the de-humanizing aspect of the internet, and have tried to take care not to take it too personally when someone ruffles my feathers.

It's not always intended, but it happens.

Maybe that's one of the reasons I went to Ohio last summer; because it wasn't sufficient to "know" people via internet, but for real. To connect in real life, for that friendship can only be fulfilled if we can look at each other, if we can speak in person, if we can embrace, and carry our friendship from the keyboard into reality.

Sure, the keyboard connections continue, but they have much more depth now that we know each other.

It is a deprivation to connect...but not complete the connection.

One of the things that concerns me about the abundance of internet socialization is what it is doing to our youth. They spend their days texting people they may never have met...and may never meet. And they don't have the discernment skills to know if they SHOULD take steps to meet those others. They have their most "meaningful" conversations via an iphone which completely disconnects them from emotion or valid intimacy.

And adults who should know better fall into the same trap (lest someone think I'm picking on teens. I'm not.)

Social networking is a tool, not a way of life. If we focus only on our fragile online connections, we'd be lost.

There has to be a balance.

In my own experience, I've experienced some wonderful friendships, and those that are real, and involve real connections, continue to grow. Those that do not fall away. It's not to say that the people at the other end are less worthy of friendship! I only wish I could meet all the wonderful people with whom I've connected online!

But the reality is this; we all have to tend the relationships around us, too.

Today I was invited to a Super Bowl party at a friend's house. We haven't "hung out" for a long time, and I turned it down tonight not because I didn't want to spend time with them, but because I have laryngitis. (It doesn't make a lot of sense to go hang out with friends and sit there silently when of course, we WANT to chatter up a storm. Which I would do in spite of my vocal problem!)

Instead, I spent some time online, here and there connected to people I've never met, commenting on the Super Bowl and the attendant commercials. Yes, it was fun. But a real connection with dear friends would have been better.

Again, we have to have a balance; online networking is great, but we have to make sure we foster our friendships in real life, too.

And as the article says, we have to be willing to be disconnected from ALL of it; to experience solitude in the honest sense of the word, and in that, know ourselves, and know the God who made us.

If we're not taking that time, then no friendships in the world are going to help us.
Ultimately, in all of our social connections, we're looking for God. But if we don't take the time to seek Him in solitude as well as through others, we'll miss Him entirely.

Let us not let technology run our lives, and let us not redefine friendship according to the definitions assigned by social networking, but rather, by our inherent design that demands real personal interaction fueled by knowledge of who we are in relation to God.

Embracing Suffering

I received an email today that referenced someone "living with leukemia".

That terminology has bothered me for a long time; "living with HIV" or "living with alcoholism" or "living with Hodgkin's Disease".

Yes, it's important to be positive when dealing with a serious illness, so in no way do I ever want to denigrate what others are experiencing. And I know that at any time, I could myself be struck by something terrible.

But today, in that email, I realized what is so bothersome to me with regard to the words being used; it's a denial of the very real suffering being experienced not only by that person, but by those who love them. It is "politically correct" to use the term "living with" as opposed to "suffering from", and therin is the problem.

We live in a society that wants to escape suffering. Indeed, we all want to escape suffering, but this systematic form of escape through the rhetoric of political correctness does nothing to truly aid those who have been struck by disease.

Yes, they are living, and they are coping, and they are getting by; but they are greatly suffering. And as long as we ignore the fact of their very REAL suffering, then we are also denying them, and ourselves an opportunity to address our greatest questions to the Savior who also suffered.

Christ Himself dignified our suffering through what He endured. Who are we to deny it when it happens to us?

That's not to say we should not take advantage of science, for there are treatments, there are pain medications, there are cures. And we need to pursue those things, but not in order to live in denial; rather to embrace what we are experiencing and offer that back to Our Lord.

It seems to me that when we are overly positive with regard to the awful things that happen to us, it becomes a form of denial of what it really is. What is closer to reality? That someone is "living with" leukemia, or that someone is "suffering from" leukemia?

In fact, both are accurate, but "suffering from " is MORE accurate, for one who is not living cannot suffer. And when we approach our friends who have this or some other disease, and we have the attitude of "you're living with this disease", we are not open to what they might truly be experiencing. We are focused on being happy and joyful and living in la-la land where there is no suffering and death.

Yes, we die. We have to face that. And someone who has this or other diseases are also facing that reality, and they have to do so on their own terms. But that does not mean the topic should be avoided.

God forbid, if I ever have such a disease, that everyone treat me like a china doll that might be broken if someone happens to point out the fact that I'm mortal.

How can any one of us truly come to know ourselves or know God if we don't embrace our suffering? If we focus ONLY on "surviving" we are forgetting the end to which we are directed. We are missing an opportunity, or, if it is someone else who is suffering, we are denying them an opportunity to help them find God in their darkest moment.

We have been created for eternity, not for this world; it is important to realize what a gift God has given us by granting us life, but it is also important not to deny the suffering inherent as long as we live it.

My prayers go out to those who suffer from serious diseases; and I have this to say to you: don't let the world cheapen your experience through political correctness. If you are suffering, let those close to you know about it and don't be bullied into thinking you have to be positive all the time! Recognize what is happening to you, find God in that darkness, and invite those you love to help you with that burden, for one of them may experience it next. Do you want THEM to suffer the greater loneliness of suffering alone in a world that denies what is happening?

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Maybe I have no right to speak on this, or perhaps I do, but from a different perspective. But there is one thing I have learned through my own kind of suffering..it's always easier when someone else truly understands what is happening, and is willing to sit with you in that darkest hour. And it means that much more when the light of dawn arises again, giving a new perspective to your own questions and fears.
*

Stop denying suffering. Yes, live with it, but embrace it as well and call it what it is. If you don't, you can't ever truly accept it.
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Metamorphasis

I have a few announcements to make, so listen up!

There have been some changes in the world of Catholic blogging, and you all need to know about them.

First, my new hero, "Fr. Hulk", has found blogging to be apparently cathartic, and so he will no longer be turning green and ripping all of his clerics to smithereens. Now he is to be referred to as "Fr. Cranky", and can be found at his new blog. Please update your links. (Hmm....I just realized I'll have to update my links, where I linked to him, too. Now I'M cranky!)

I'll offer it up.

Anyway, it appears all the old blog posts have been migrated to the new blog, as the old one will be disappearing.

Secondly, my old blog friend Owen aka Onionboy of Luminous Miseries has begun blogging again, has a health update (the surgery went well!), and can thus be found again. He ALSO moved and is blogging at wordpress now. I, for one, missed him a lot and am glad he's back.

Thirdly, my other old blog friend Warren has ALSO begun blogging again after a years' hiatus, and I'm also thrilled to see him again! His new blog doesn't have any posts yet, but you must trust me when I tell you that his blog is worth reading....when he starts writing in it again, I mean. :-)

LM (yes, I have female friends, too, and this one I met in person in July!) has a blog specificially for those souls most in need of prayer...the Purgatory Pages. Please send her the names of your dearly beloved so she can add them to the list of those in need of prayer.

Owen also has an apostolate, A Month for the Souls in Purgatory, which I meant to post sooner but time has gotten away and I've been hugely remiss. Check out the site, and as with LM's site, add your loved ones to the list!

That concludes our announcements for tonight. Go check out those links!

Shhh....Don't Tell Father I Told You This....But...

...I have it on good authority that today is his BIRTHDAY!

So go on over and wish Father Schnippel a big ol' HAPPY BIRTHDAY, and make sure you tell him that you'll pray for him and for Vocations. I can't imagine he'd like anything better. Except maybe a coffee cup that says "Breakfast" or "Lunch" on it, so that he'll know what time of day it is. But other than that, prayers are the best possible gift!

Oh, and make sure you spend time looking around his blog. He's got a lot of great things to say, and as you know, good priests always need a lot of support.


UPDATE! Father has a great story about the day of his birth and that of his brother's. (They are identical twins). Go read!

Surprises and Prayers

It was a long hard day today, and it's been a rough week, for many reasons. This evening, though, I came home to a very welcome surprise.

There, in my mailbox, was a small package from the Benedictines of Mary, Queen of Apostles, Priory of Our Lady of Ephesus in Kansas City, MO. What could it be?

Sure enough, as the letter accompanying it explained, it is the first release of their CD, Echoes of Ephesus. And even better...there on the cover photo is my friend Sister Mary Gibson, in her postulant habit. Her Investiture will be taking place in only a little over a month from now, on the Feast of the Epiphany.

I am listening to the CD as I write this, and can testify that it is the PERFECT way to end my day; the music is beautiful, a mixture of Latin and English, traditional hymns and some new compositions using music completely coherent with their way of life which hasn't changed for thousands of years. (But for some technical upgrades!)

Tonight, as I pray night prayer, I will do so especially cognizant that the book in my hand has my friend's name inscribed inside the cover, and I will be listening to her sing with her Sisters. It was only a year ago that she visited the monastery, and last year, on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, I met her after her meeting with her Spiritual Director, and just before we went in to Mass, she gave me the official news...that it was a YES!

Please keep Sister Mary Gibson in your prayers as she prepares for the next stage in her Vocation on the Feast of the Epiphany, and pray for all the Benedictines of Mary, Queen of Apostles.

Back Home Again

Greetings and Salutations! I'm back home again, Live from Minnesota, where extremities are cold and kitchens are warm. Where accents are normal and expressions are boring. (Seriously...can't we do any better than "Don'cha know"? )

Anyway, it was a wonderful trip, although I'm totally wiped out. You know how it is when you travel...you never sleep as well (or as long) when you're in a different place.

Thursday

I arrived in the "Queen City of the Midwest" as she is called, on Thursday evening, having met a native Kentuckian who was seated next to me. He told me about Skyline Chili and a rib place called Montgomery's (wasn't it?). In any case, I knew that a friend, my hostess, was meeting me at the airport and had said dinner would be waiting for us. Which was great...I hadn't eaten since around 11 am or earlier that morning. I was wondering if another friend would also be meeting me; there was something that J., my hostess, had said that made me wonder, but I figured, no, he was too busy. Guys who dedicate their lives to the Church have far more important things to do than go to the airport to greet some woman from Minnesota.

But sure enough, as I rounded a corner and emerged from a hallway approaching Baggage Claim, there was a very tall priest, grinning widely, standing next to our other grinning friend. And yes, I WAS surprised, although I'd suspected something was up.

You have to understand; this trip to Cincinnati had originally been arranged under the auspices of surprising the good Father when I happened to "show up" at the Conference. Well, we ended up telling him in advance, and so the tables were turned...and I was the one who ended up being surprised! And...I'll admit that I was very touched that Father S. (whom I met in person in July) would take time out of his busy life to greet me at the airport and spend time with all of us that evening.

We arrived at my dear hostesses' home, where I met two of her friends, J and M., (now mine as well) when they walked in the door with dinner...Skyline Chili! People, you can make this at home. And you know, it was perfect for me....mine had no beans! This chili, famous to Cincinnati, is served over spaghetti noodles, then garnished with chopped onions and cheddar cheese. It was wonderful! And as I make beanless chili myself, well, now I know I can serve it over spaghetti. It can also be ordered with beans and other things.

See what one learns when one travels?

The evening was spent, all five of us enjoying dinner, beer, and conversation, much laughter, and excitement over the Conference we were heading towards on Friday.

Maybe Father Schnippel will speak about the joke we played on him that evening. Not that I would ever play a practical joke on a Priest...nope...not me! (I'm so glad I live in Minnesota....)

Friday/Saturday/Sunday Conference

On Friday morning, we ladies headed out to Our Lady of the Holy Spirit Center for Mass with the good Father, and I have to tell you; if you are Catholic and you are going to the Cincinnati area, you have GOT to go there. The mosaics, the relics, the chapels....hmmm....can I go on retreat there? Architectural beauty, Perepetual Adoration, true spiritual refreshment, and stuff I think I can show you only in photos...when I get them developed. (No, I don't have a digital camera.)

We caravaned to Coming Home Network (CHN)'s Conference, "Deep in History" from there, arriving late afternoon, where one friend quickly went to work helping one of the vendors, and the rest of us wandered around, enjoying ourselves, chatting, etc. I met fellow blogger Chris Osgood, who was also attending (please keep this potential future priest in your prayers!), and we spoke for awhile. I don't know if there were other Catholic bloggers present; if so, I did not meet them, but we also hadn't purchased the meal plan so didn't mix as much with the other people who were attending.

Saturday was filled with topics, and Sunday it ended with a panel discussion. As I have more to say about this, I'll save it for another post, but suffice to say that it was a wonderful event, you people NEED to go to this if you are at all able to do so (it was literally a gift for me to be able to go), and if nothing else, order the CD's or DVD's that are available from CHN.

We didn't see much of Columbus, but as the hotel was situated close to downtown and a large mall, outdoor shopping area, etc, well, during free hours my new friend, J. from Tennessee roamed around, got coffee, chatted, people watched, and cracked each other up.

Sunday, after the panel discussion, we spoke briefly with now Sister Rosalind Moss, and she was gracious enough to take a picture with us. (I will write more on this in its own post).

We drove back to Cincinnati while Father headed out to another event, and spent our last evening together pretty much just laughing hysterically. Is there ever a better way to pass the time with someone?

Monday

Monday, J and M departed for Tennesee, while my hostess and I headed out to meet Father. That morning Father gave us (especially me, as I had never been there) a tour of the Cathedral of St. Peter in Chains in downtown Cincinnati. From the exterior, I'll admit it doesn't look like a Cathedral, but inside, one must admit that the transcendant beauty has deep theological significance...and I love the Blessed Sacrament Chapel where we attended Father's Mass that evening. I will hopefully have a photo of this to post. The motif of chains is found everywhere.

And finally...I have to admit that while most Cathedrals are very feminine in accoutrements and design, St. Peter in Chains is very masculine, which has given me a bit of a different perspective for any future conversations about Church Architecture.

We also traveled to (Covington?) Kentucky, just across the river, to the Mother of God Cathedral which was Gothic in style, flying buttresses, stained glass...back to the "feminine" style of Catholic architecture. If you get the chance, go there, check out the stained glass, the rose windows, and the incredible paintings in the Blessed Sacrament Chapel.

We also visited, in Cincinnati, the oldest Catholic Church, St. Mary's. We happened to enter during Adoration but while Father took time to pray, J. and I wandered around the church, admiring the art, the stations, the design, etc. They have a very life-like Pieta there, and I couldn't help but stop and gaze upon the wounds of Christ and the anguished face of His Mother. I didn't even attempt to take any photos for fear that the flash would disturb those present, or, even worse....do any damage to the condition of these works. (Often flash photography isn't allowed as light can damage paintings, etc). I didn't see any signs prohibiting photography but it's something I've been sensitive to ever since I lived in Mexico. That...and it just seems wrong, somehow, to take photos in a church. I'm not a tourist; I'm Catholic, and this parish, while it wasn't local to me, was home, too.

I can't explain it; something about photographing churches makes me feel like I'm exploiting something.

Last evening, we met for a Blognic, which ended up being very small, but the company was incredible and I finally made the acquaintance of occasional commenter Wayne, and his beautiful family, as well as another friend of Father's. My only regret was that I wish I hadn't been so tired! I think we all were, but the children present energized us with their antics...and...well, let's just admit that children are adorable and always light up a room! Even a German Beer Hall!

This morning J. dropped me off at the airport, where my singular goal (other than checking in and getting through the security checkpoint) was to get a large cup of coffee. Yup. Minnesota time, I got up at about 4 am. A little earlier. Sure, Eastern time the clock said almost 5 am, but let's get real; I live in MN and my body knows the "real" time.

Well, as always I had "get-home-itis" and if I could have pushed the plane or did anything to make it go faster, I would have. As it was I had to be content to be delayed 25 minutes or so as they had to de-ice the aircraft (since it had sat overnight and frost had formed on it). I have friends who work as "ramp rats" (as they are called in the biz), so I knew the procedure, although this was the first time I'd seen it in practice.

Anyway, long post (yeah, yeah, I know...as always), but it was a wonderful weekend. Tomorrow it's back to normal, back to work/study/work/study/work.

I pray all of you had a great weekend as well.
*

Blushing Bride

This evening I attending the wedding of a dear friend and neighbor, a woman, in part, responsible for my own coversion. Why? Because she is a good Catholic.

When I first purchased my townhome, I prayed that God would lead me to a place where I would be surrounded by good Catholic friends. He has answered this prayer with great abundance, and one of the first people I met when I moved in was...my now newly-married friend. She and her sister had a garage next door to me, and their unit backed up to mine. I think I mentioned in conversation that I had begun attending the nearby parish, and she became very excited, telling me they'd been members there for awhile and were happy I was Catholic, too. Over the last few years, although we mostly seemed to wave at each other only in passing, both of these young women have become good friends of mine, and so as I write this post, I have to admit the memories are a little bittersweet.

Tonight, this friend got married. A couple years ago when we rode to Theology on Tap together, I happened to meet the man who is now her new husband. If I remember correctly, they had perhaps met a couple times, and I also had spent some time talking with him that night and on other occasions. For some reason, I could "see" the two of them together, so finally I asked her about him. At the time, they were only friends, and she was noncomittal about anything further, but I wondered. And sure enough, about a year later they were officially dating...and tonight...they married.

And I couldn't be happier for them both! It was a beautiful wedding between a man and a woman who know what the Sacrament is about, a reception including their family and friends whom they love and who love them both dearly in return, and all in all, it was a wonderful night!

Yet I will miss her and her sister, for they are selling their townhome and will no longer be my neighbors. I will miss their smiling faces and the short conversations or waves as we pass each other coming and going, along with prayer requests and promises on the fly. Their faith has bolstered what was once a fledgling faith for me, and as I have watched them grow over the last few years, they have helped me to grow. And so it is with joy and sorrow both that I attended this wedding, thanking God for the providental connections He makes for us, knowing that if we trust our welfare to Him, He will always provide for us what we need in any given moment, from simple friendship to eternal sacramental bonds.


It was also a night to make connections with friends and acquaintances I haven't seen in a few years, as well as make new friends who happen to be connected in other acquaintances in other circles in which I travel. Life is beautiful, is it not?

One of the people I had the great privilege of speaking with tonight is the prior Associate Pastor from my parish, who was reassigned this spring as Pastor of another parish. This particular priest was instrumental to me in where I am in life now, through a couple simple actions; he wrote recommendation letters to two Grad programs for me, and served as a reference for my current job. This priest also was often in the classroom when I taught RCIA, insuring, apparently, that any Latin pronounciation (ie: Gaudete: Gau DAY tay) was done correctly, and that what I said was free from heresy.

We fell into our old banter, causing me to have to remind him of the evening before RCIA when he had come in to check his speaking schedule, to learn I was signed up to give the catechesis on sin. He thought it was his topic, I was ready to back off, but he asked me to take it as he had two other talks that week as well, and ended his seemingly-nice request with the typical caveat I had come to expect from him: "Oh, no, you can give the talk about Sin. After all, you were a MUCH bigger sinner than I was!"

Thanks, Father.

He of course denied the event, but everyone there who knew him knew that it sounded EXACTLY like the kind of thing he would say.

And that's why we respect him so much, and why he was there to concelebrate my friend's wedding; because not only was he hilarious, he was (and is!) an awesome priest with the ability to balance jest with real business. And all of us who have had contact with him have become better Catholics out of his real encouragement and real actions on our behalf. I know my newly-married friend would say at least that, probably more. It was good to see him again tonight and that he is doing well at his new parish.

I'm sad to report that I had to leave before I was able to get a photo with my friend in her bridal gown, and one with her and her sister, but such is life. And as it turns out, my failure to get a photo with them was a blessing. As soon as I got into my car, I realized that I had some green herb right smak dab center in my teeth, which likely couldn't be observed in the dark dance hall...but WOULD have shown up in stark relief in any given photograph embellished with flash.

God is quite merciful, y'all. Extremely so.

And so I end this post with a prayer request for all of you, known and unknown. Please offer your prayers for my friend and her husband, that God bless their marriage, that they be blessed with children, and that they continue to serve as an example of holiness for us all.


******

PSA: I have found it necessary to enable comment moderation . I will do my best to publish your comments in as timely a manner as possible.

Prayer for Christ's New Bride

Right now, 10:00 am CST, my dear friend Mary Gibson, of Veritatis Splendor and Romin' Roman fame, is processing up the aisle in her Mass of Entrance into the Benedictines of Mary, Queen of Apostles, a cloistered community in Kansas City, Missouri.

Please keep her and her new life in your prayers. We will forever be in hers.

Anonymous....Invisible...Mysterious....Friend

When I was growing up, in classes in school and through magazines, "pen pals" would be advertised. For awhile in 9th grade, I had a pen pal named Paqui from Valencia, Spain. We gave up, though, because we both had to have someone translate our respective letters. I also had a pen pal in Michigan, which relationship began when I met her one summer when visiting my Dad. That didn't last, either.

Adrienne has a post up urging everyone to, for once, get a pen out and WRITE to people...put pen to actual paper or cardstock, and trace, with the ink from the pen, lines that comprise words and sentences and paragraphs, then actually send it by REAL mail. Fr. V., too, laments the lack of handwritten letters which in the past forged such a connection between people. In this age of technology, how many of us receive WRITTEN letters as opposed to electronically-generated bills and advertisements every day?

I know I rarely receive anything handwritten. If I do, it's a card for a holiday from Mom or an Aunt. And as I have admitted before and do so again...I'm horrible at even sending cards!


WHO ARE YOU...REALLY?

UKOK has a wonderful post up, an invitation to share with her our true images; what we really look like, so she can place a face to our words. It's a brilliant idea, but I hesitate to carry out the same thing; because I fear if I do, I will have to "come out" here and reveal my true identity.

I did go ahead and send her a photo of myself, as did many other people, via email. Because even we, the Great Anonymous Bloggers, have a desire to make true connections, to see each other, to place a name with a face, to humanize those we are meeting in this area of penpalship greatly accelerated by the advances of technology.

There are a few who know who I really am; we've met in person, or maybe exchanged photos and names and addresses. And I value all of these friendships; indeed, once we take that step, it takes our relationship from a superficial "internet friend" to a level approaching true friendship.

Several years ago, I was involved in a writing website, and there were some people I would have called "friends", although our values were different, although our perspective on life was different, although we had neither seen each other nor would we ever be likely to do so. The site began a series of annual conventions, which are even today enormously popular, and turned those superficial friends into real friends. I do think such a thing is beautiful; for who are your friends but those who share your interests?

I think that, had I gone to that convention, I would have had a great time, but in all honesty, it's unlikely I would have maintained contact with anyone. Because my "friends" there were not really based upon any solid foundation, but upon our interest in writing and in writing about similar things. With some, there was a bond of faith...very generally. (I was at the beginning of my conversion at the time.) With others, it was friendly "chat", which often resulted in revealing a difference of fundamental beliefs, of which we agreed to disagree.

Those kinds of connections with people are fine...but they aren't really "friendships" and I knew it then, and know it now.

QUO VADIS?

When I first entered the world of the internet, I was very cautious; I did not want to put my true name or my face out there, for fear it would be used against me. What if I said something stupid? What if a psychospaz found me and came after me? What if my identity was stolen?

To this day, my email is a pseudonym. I have a very common name, so it's unlikely that will change; adding a letter or number only invites a typo that will send an email with sensitive information intended for me, to some stranger who, with my luck, would be just the person looking for such information for some financial gain. (Not that they would gain anything off of me...I'm very poor and can't afford to have bad credit as a result of such theft!)

Blogging began at the behest of a friend that I met on a Catholic singles website. During the course of our conversations, he thought he might be called to the priesthood, I thought I might be called to religious life. And so we never dated, but our friendship continued. We are friends to this day. He is now engaged and looking at the permanent diaconate...I am...um...you know...still lost. (I may start a new community: Sisters and Brothers of Perpetual Discernment)

Anywho, after several email exchanges, my friend, himself a blogger, encouraged me to put my thoughts and opinions into a blog. My initial thought was, "What can I POSSIBLY have to say?"

STOP LAUGHING!

REAL FRIENDSHIP

It's been a few years, and I think this blog has become the equivalent of a book. And my commenters, some other bloggers, some not, have become friends. During my first year, a few of us local bloggers got together and had dinner. (I still owe Desperate Irish Housewife a beer from that night.) I've met a few of those people outside of that night...such as Cathy, the Recovering Dissident Catholic. She first contacted me via email one day, and now, we are good friends, and she has a blog of her own which reaches out to those seeking the true faith. And there are others, such as Ray Marshall, and Our Word, formally Judy and Mitchell Hadley. (We watched the Preakness together a couple years ago, in shocked silence as Barbaro first broke from the gate and then shattered his leg in front of his adoring fans.)

But there's more.

Last spring, a reporter contacted me, looking for information on the Catholic and general Christian blogosphere. I put some thought into this because it's different than the writing website I used to be on. The "friends" I have met as a Catholic blogger have become true friends, including those I haven't met yet. There are a few who are truly "pen pals" although we haven't written longhand letters. Yet the seeds of friendship are there, and if we were to be able to meet, we'd likely chat as though we'd known each other forever.

There are bloggers who have contributed to my grad school funds, and, very touchingly, last summer to my vet bills for Fire when he was diagnosed with osteosarcoma and subsequently put down. I had just quit my job, did not have other employment...and these people came to my aid. They didn't know me in person, they had no idea if I really was who I said I was, and in our world of deception, I would argue that they had every reason to leave me to rot.

But they didn't. Because there is something that unites us as Catholics that goes far beyond blogging or even pen pals. There is a foundation that transcends us. There is a community that was established long before the internet.

We have a supernatural unity in the Catholic Church. Those I call friends in Canada, in Texas, in Ohio (numerous!), here in Minnesota, in Illinois, in Utah, in Tennesee, etc., are not just pen pals or fellow bloggers. They are fellow parishioners. They are the people with whom I would be friends if I went to their home parishes. If they come to my town, I'd invite them to my church...and/or others in my area.

I look a the letters from Clement, from Ignatius, from Paul and from James...they are our predecessors. While they wrote from authority and friendship both, guaranteed other early Christians were writing to each other out of simple friendship and brotherhood. Is the Church really any different today?

PSEUDONYMS

You may ask...why, then, with all this happy-go-lucky-warm-fuzzy-brotherhood do I still use a pen name?

Simple; for discernment.

Not EVERYONE on the internet is a potential friend. Not EVERYONE is trustworthy. Not EVERYONE is who they claim to be.

I have actually Googled my real name, and the the only thing I found was actually my race scores in an Alpine GS (Giant Slalom) from a local league a few years ago. Sadly, it wasn't even my best time!

So far, I have been successful in keeping my identity sacred.

Names have power. Names are important, and I reserve the right to give my name ONLY to those who have proven themselves to be worthy. And likewise, I am honored to be entrusted with another person's real name.

When I write, I write what I truly think, what I believe, and what I feel. I have written of my family and of my work. Being "anonymous" allows me to do this freely, without fear that what I say will be attached, correctly or incorrectly to certain people or places. Maybe there's a certain catharsis in my writing, that, through writing under a nom de plume, doesn't degrade to gossip or detraction.

If I knew my family was reading what I wrote, my writing would be sterile and stunted. Most of my friends and others I know, even my coworkers, know I have a blog, but they don't know what it is or where. There are a few who know, but I don't think ANY of them actually read it. And I'm grateful for that; for if they did, I'd become self-conscious and I would likely comment only on the news or some other trite thing.

I have come to see that ultimately, my blog is not about me. Which is amazing, because I talk about myself all the time, hedonistic self-centered, vain sinner that I am.

More and more, I am finding that what I speak, others are feeling, too. My opinions are shared by others, my experiences are not unique. My pain is not my own, my triumphs are shared in the triumphs of others, and my joy is never in solitude. I have found that sometimes, by writing, I am giving others a voice, and in the end, I take a back seat to that.

I would love to see photos of my commenters and other bloggers who do not reveal themselves. But I do not want to do this in such a way that would force me to reveal myself. Because if I reveal myself, I fear not only that I would be found out by those I know and be forced to be silent out of propriety, but also that I would take the forefront...and God would no longer be glorified.

I began this blog when in the process of discernment, which has not really ended. And the moment this blog becomes more about "me" than it does about God, then it's time to hang it up. Clearly, as I write, I am speaking of myself and my own experiences. But as long as I can be anonymous, I can decrease so the Lord can increase...His works can be highlighted in my tiny soul, and in my anonyminity, no one but God knows my true self, and thus, His actions are really on center stage.

When I was a teenager, I wanted to be an actress. I wanted to be a character on stage before the world, my own name in neon lights. Now, I want to be in the orchestra pit, hidden deeply under the stage, playing note by note, contributing to the whole, while above me, the name of Christ headlines...and my job is only to point to Him.