Regali

I received an early birthday present in the mail last week. Under ordinary circumstances, I would have waited patiently, savoring the sweetness of wonder. But the circumstances surrounding this particular package were not ordinary in the least. This particular package had made it's way all the way from southern Italy, and patience was a virtue that I simply could not afford.

I tore into the package. It didn't budge. I grabbed a knife. That seemed drastic, so I put it back and picked up scissors instead. Furious slicing and cutting and perspiring ensued. I didn't save any of the bubble wrap or wrapping paper by cutting neatly and carefully, sorry mom, but there really is no better way to behold a new present than to be surrounded by mountains of shredded colorful paper, popped bubble wrap, and packing peanuts.

I did my best to maintain a shred of decency by reading the card before I unveiled my birthday surprise,

Dear Ruthie,

Auguri for your birthday!

Open your present and then continue to read...

Some people just get me.

And this is where words fail. I opened my present and began to cry very happy tears.

...Do you remember this portrait? You saw it in my grandma's home in Sorrento, I remember you really liked it, so I was so glad to find an identical one (just smaller) for you.

Oh yes, I remember quite well. I just admired it for a while. I was simply taken by the beauty of the artist's rendering of a face. A face enamored, a soul at peace.

It is an image of the Blessed Virgin Mary, gazing downward. You can't see, but just below the edge of the frame, I know she is looking upon her sweet infant. I don't know what she is thinking, but it's easy enough to imagine. Nine months of waiting to nibble the sweet toes on the little feet kicking inside of her. Nine months of waiting to put her ear to his warm chest and hear his heart beat with her ears, instead of feeling it through her hands laid over her belly. Nine months of waiting to see his eyes, smell his skin and kiss his nose.

Jesus' birth was, and is, the most anticipated birth the world has had the honor of being patient for. Soon we will celebrate his birth again, but for now, we wait. We wait patiently and happily, all while preparing our souls for that very moment they felt their worth.

Happy Advent and Merry Christmas. Enjoy the wait.

Living for the Weekend

Exactly ninety-nine days ago, I joined the working world as a full-time member. Ninety-nine days ago I began the life that I had spent my entire life preparing for.

In kindergarten I prepared for elementary school. Despite the time I decided Play-Doh looked tempting enough to taste, they let me move forward. In elementary school, I prepared for middle school. In middle school, I lost my mind. At least, that's the only reasonable explanation for my heinous fashion choices. And somehow, even with braces, glasses and scrunchies, I made it to high school, where they tell you that your performance here sets the tone for how you will do in college, and college sets the tone for the rest of your life in the real world.

So I'm here, in the real world. And now that I've arrived, I find myself living for the weekends, living for that precise time when I am not working, when I am not doing what my life has been preparing me for.

It strikes me as very odd, that the real world, that big, momentous thing we strive and prepare for is the one thing so many people seem to do their best to avoid once they've gotten there.

And then, you have that lucky bunch that simply loves what they do. They have found that beautiful equilibrium where the heart's desire meets another's need.

And that is what I, in my infinite ninety-nine days of working world wisdom have come to know more and more, that this is what we were all created for: to live out the truest desires of our hearts because in some mystical and miraculous way, it will work out for us.

I don't have much proof for this bold statement, just faith and a few promises from people older and wiser than I.

Living for the weekend is no way to live. I want to live for each and every moment. I want to see the miracle of time in every second, and the miracle of the human person in every interaction. I want to live a life that is worthy of the attention that God pays it.

And I want to live up to the dramatic way I write things, but life is not a blog. Sometimes life is awkward. Sometimes life is sad. Sometimes you want to eat your words, or bury your head in the sand because you very accidentally insulted your boss. Sometimes you burn your toast. Sometimes you want to cry for no obvious reason. Sometimes your heart is broken.

But thank God for broken hearts. A hardened heart is in prime shape for being shattered into zillions of tiny indistinguishable jigsaw-like pieces. And Jesus is so good at puzzles. Let me tell you. When you are trying to find your vocation, and you completely and miserably fail at loving someone, and your heart gets broken on Valentine's Day through modern technology, Jesus can put that heart back together.

When you move to a big city, away from the salty-aired breezy lifestyle you were accustomed to, so that you can work 13 hours a day and sleep on a futon until you find furniture, Jesus gives you the strength to get up in the mornings, crack your futon-stiffened back, and go to work smiling.

The real world is not the end result. We prepared for it, certainly, but life is a continual preparation process for something much greater. We shouldn't live for the weekends, we should live for eternity. While we live presently, that is, for eternity, God is preparing for us. He is setting aside places in heaven for all of his most darling loves. He works fervently to mend our broken hearts. I am not wise and rich in the experiences that come with old age, but I can count at least ninety-nine ways Jesus has used a broken heart to bring peace and joy.

Fetching Finds on Friday

Do you love alliteration? I do.

Because all of my original thoughts are stuck in "draft" mode, and I can't seem to have enough time to figure out exactly what I am trying to say, here are some fun things to occupy your time instead of my ramblings.

-A great post by Fr. Dwight Longnecker on holiness

-The fabulous and fashionable older generation

-I love G.K. Chesterton, and I love love-stories, so it is only natural that I love reading about G.K. Chesterton's love story

-Amazing photographs of one of my favorite musical artists

-I have lots and lots of these

-I am friends with ridiculously cool and talented people, and I love to let people know that I am friends with ridiculously cool and talented people through my blog

-Watch out Daisy, this might happen to you

-One of my photos of my sweet little brother made it onto The Pioneer Woman's website! Can you tell which one is little brother?

-Awesome C.S. Lewis quote that panders to my love for Lewis and my econ-geek views of politics


I have lots of grand schemes and ideas sitting in my blog drafts folder, so hopefully I can find some time for a real post soon! In the meantime, say a little prayer of thanksgiving. If you can say it alliteratively, I think God will be infinitely pleased.

Father, thank you for flowers, Fridays, family, friends, fireworks on the fourth, farmer's markets, forgiveness and feast days. And my bed. It's so much better than the floor. Even though the floor begins with 'f'.
Amen

Daddy

My mother always told me never to compare myself to others. This usually happened when I tried to use the old "everyone did poorly on this test, so if you think about it, I did pretty well" trick. I don't think I ever heard my dad say that though. So here is a list of reasons why my dad is cooler than your dad. Happy Father's Day, daddy.

daughter and daddy atop Grandfather Mountain in N.C.

-He collects Victrolas. He also has a walk in closet full of vinyls to play in his room full of Victrolas.
-He is always the first one to pull out the rosary on family road trips.
-He beat up a guy who tried to rob him at gun point. I think he might be batman. If you want to see the news story, I'll send you the video.
-He loves our mailbox. He built our mailbox. My grandmother ran into the mailbox in her Buick, and the car was dented, the mailbox was fine. He really loves that mailbox. It's a healthy pride.
-He laughed so hard once, he passed out. I can only aspire to laugh so hard.
-He bought a 1967 VW Bug, sight unseen, flew from Virginia to California to pick it up, and drove it back from California to Virginia. I wouldn't be surprised if he picked up a hitch hiker or two along the way.
-He has run a couple marathons.
-He got his first job at Burger King.
-He got a job that required our family to be near the ocean at all times.
-He was in the seminary. I'm glad that didn't work out.
-He shakes when he laughs.
-He is passionate about life. Living it, defending it, and enjoying it.
-He can fix anything.
-He always brings back presents for us kiddos when he travels.
-He uses the word whatchamacallit more than 'the' or 'and'.
-He reads more books than anyone I know.
-He loves inviting those Jehova's witness types into our house when they knock on our door, and tries to evangelize them for the Catholic Church. Rock on, daddio.
-He is always warm, wonderful for snuggling. We call him the human heater.
-He always answers my big life questions with, "whatever God's will is".
-He always answers my little life questions with, "whatever God's will is."
-He joins us kiddos in making our family's traditional farting noises every time we cross a state line.
-He says the reason he had children was so he could make them bring him his beer. I'm not sure if it's a joke, but if it is, gosh he's funny.
-He gets all emotional-in-a-macho-way when a large group of people sings a classic hymn or the national anthem.
-He stuffed a kid in a trashcan once, but he swears it was his friend, and his friend asked him to do it because he thought it would be funny. I want to hang out with people like that too. (The principal didn't believe them)

dad giving big brother "the death grip", not to be confused with "the alien face grip"

I could go on and on with more awesome things, like the time he got all of my friends out of trouble for being at a party in high school, because he just laughed it up to all the other parents, reminding them that it's really just a funny story when you think about it.

But in all seriousness, my dad is more than just a great guy. He is a good man. He loves God above all things, and that love for Christ and His Church spills over into his family. My brothers and I can sincerely say we had a childhood full of love. The family unit is so vitally important to an individual's well being, and I am blessed enough to have a strong and loving father leading his family. I love you daddy. Thanks for being weirdly cool.

toastmaster

True friendship

I read this in Italy, in my Magnificat. It was like a little piece of home, because I could agree with the words based on my own experiences, particularly in college. And because it was in English. I hope these words resonate with you as strongly as they did with me.

"Real friendship is very rare, extremely rare in history, for it calls for natures that are already very lofty, and it elevates them still more.
Friendship with Jesus, however, is of a far more exquisite quality, and it brings to souls blessings that are infinitely superior. It consecrates friendships that are purely natural, and raises them up and endows them with a supernatural quality. That is why we should cultivate both at the same time..
Unfortunately, this second friendship is difficult, because the object of our love is not such as comes within the scope of our senses, and our relations with Jesus are bound to follow the way of spiritual things. These make little impression upon us, just because they do not appeal to our senses. One needs time to understand the things of the soul, and to experience the relations that souls can have with one another. How often do we say, “I do not forget you; you are always in my thoughts.” But do we reflect on the deep reality that lies beneath our words?
We do not understand, or rather we do not realize, that when two souls are united, they do no lie side by side like two bodies; they are really each in the other. And this is the principle of the love union, and in particular of that friendship which is the highest form of that union. Two friends become one, because their minds and their hearts are in perfect harmony, in the worship of the same truth and in the love of the same good. That community of love – note the word “community” which means “common-unity” and is very significant – increases our life two-fold, and makes our being greater with all the greatness of the life of the one we love. That is how, when we love God and when we enter into these relations of friendship with him, our life takes on a wideness that is measureless, and becomes eternal life."
Dom Augustine Guillerand, O.Cart. (+1945)

the seniors on GMU's Catholic Campus Ministry Student Ministry Team, and my true friends for life

Anything you can do, I can do better

This was my very first weekend as a working woman. And I spent a good portion of it in dreamland on my little makeshift futon on my floor. I'm learning to embrace all the new cracking sounds I can make with my neck everyday.

My life has finally slowed down after a whirlwind of events. I ended college in a hurry, cramming for final exams, sprinting to graduation in heels because I woke up late, moving out of my apartment at school into a new one closer to the city in one day, and leaving for Italy the next (hence the makeshift futon on the floor). I returned from Italy two days before I was to start my job, and one week later, I am still sleeping on the floor and trying to figure out where to store my 17 bottles of wine.

Don't judge me.

disclaimer: my photo, not my bottles. i totally had more

As I sit down and catch my breath, I can't help but think about my trip to Italy. I am still on that post-trip high, wanting desperately to go back and do it all over again, but time is a one way street. The only plans I made for Italy were my plane tickets, and a one-item to-do list that read LIVE PRESENTLY. I thought I knew what it meant to live presently. I thought it meant drinking slowly the  sweet nectar of life, so as to savor it. I was ready for a relaxing time to just sit back and take it all in.

somewhere near Positano

And then I was whisked away by scooter to see miles and miles of the magnificence, with only  windblown strands of hair between my eyes and raw beauty.  No distortions from gigantic tinted tour bus windows to skew perfectly formed coastlines and cloud murals in the sky. I was speeding along going I don't even know how fast because can't convert kilometers to miles without a calculator.

beach in Amalfi

I had prepared myself for stillness, but instead I was constantly moving. Each hairpin turn along the Amalfi coast gave me one stunning view after another. I think God just relishes in astounding us. Even the thought of it can't get any better than this makes God smile with glee, knowing that He is the ultimate one-upper.


I saw magnificent views. I got to stop on the side of a highway to Amalfi and just look out at the vastness of the sea, the splendor of the mountains and the radiance of the sun. I got to just stand there and hold my arms out, hugging the warm rays of sunshine and breathing in the salty, healing air. This was it, living presently. The zipping about, the moving around, the running amok and the stopping. The breathing and enjoying. This is life.

vatican as the sun sets

vatican after the sun sets

God takes us through whirlwinds, and gives us breaks. Before I embarked on this little Italian excursion all on my own, I thought that the breaks were the times to sit down, collect my thoughts and realize how much I had enjoyed something. But now I realize enjoyment and contemplation are simultaneous. To live presently, I must thank God for every moment and rejoice in whatever is happening now. To live presently, I must delight in the peaceful, serene moments of silence that God grants to me.

Napoli

So even here, on my makeshift futon bed on the floor, where it is peaceful and serene, I will delight in knowing He is here and He loves me, and He can't wait to show me.

Ritorno a Sorrento

If you are planning on visiting Italy, and if you are anything like me, you will wake up every morning and try to convince yourself that you are, in fact, in Italy. It won't work though. I tried pinching myself, splashing cold water on my face, even a quick smack on my cheeks. Nothing worked.

So how do you know you are actually in Italy? After physical violence didn't work, I tried looking for other signs to make sure I wasn't dreaming a fabulous dream of good food, great landscapes, and wonderful people.

Is it because your toilet was made by Ferrari? No, that's totally normal, right?


Is it because your hotel bathroom was designed by Versace? Still dreaming.


Is it because I saw priests and nuns every other block? Nope, that happens all the time at FOCUS National Conference.


Is it because your feet hurt from playing soccer on rocky beaches? No, please, my feet hurt when I'm wearing cleats on turf. But I am also a wimp.


Is it because everyone is speaking Italian? No,  I could be in little Italy in New York, or maybe international week at my university.


Is it because I couldn't understand the Italian homily at Mass? No, sometimes I don't understand them in English, especially if there is an adorable baby in front of me.


Is it because I gained at least a million pasta pounds? I think I do the same thing annually in November and December with baked goods and ham.


Is it because I have scooter butt? If you are wondering what scooter butt is, let me define it for you: it is when you have ridden on the back of a scooter for an hour, and you can no longer feel your body from the waist down. And no, this gives me no indication of my global position because I got a very similar sensation my family lovingly calls numb-butt, from ridiculously long road trips throughout my childhood.


Is it because all the men I see are more fashionable than me? Nope, that seems to be a pretty common occurrence.


Is it because I am inundated with American pop culture? This gives me zero indication about where I am in the world.


Is it because of that time I "accidentally" walked into adoration, and Jesus said "Ciao, la mia bella figlia", and I understood exactly what he meant, even though I don't speak Italian? Yep. That's it. I'm in Italy.

Four Years

Today at 2:15pm, I walked out of Robinson Hall at George Mason University with a feeling that I have never felt before. I had just finished college. I had plunked down my final exam in Health Economics on my professor's desk, walked triumphantly out of the room and...nothing. No parades, no people screaming my name and cheering for me, not even confetti.

But I was done. I had completed four years of tests, papers, exams, projects, presentations, part time jobs, and even a social life. I walked a little taller. I smiled. And then I called my big brother. He walked this same walk four years ago. Big brothers are great. Little brothers are too, but big brothers are great in an entirely different capacity. That experience they have of being older therefore wiser, and also knowing how guys brains work is a double threat. They rock.

For so long I have been trying to figure out how to sum up my crazy-train of a brain, and explain what graduating means. All I had to do was call my big brother and say, I'm done. And he knew. No lengthy explanation needed, he just knew. And our brief phone conversation made me realize the most important thing I have learned in college. 

God knows me.

Too often I feel the need to explain myself and my thoughts in ways that are clever, funny, or maybe even insightful. God doesn't need me to use a thesaurus to tell him how I feel. He knows. He knows that plenty of people have graduated before, and even more will continue to experience it, but He knows I am unique in my emotions.

Part of this wonderful lesson of knowing God knows me, is to see the sacredness in this most intimate relationship. So much is best kept between Him and me. Knowing God knows me has helped me desire the Marion virtue of pondering in the heart. Mary was amazing at pondering great occurrences quietly in her heart. (Read around Luke 2:19). She knew how to have an intimate relationship with God, the most intimate relationship between God and woman the world has ever seen.

So I don't need any parades or confetti. In fact, I don't really want them. I am happy to share these unable-to-be-articulated thoughts and emotions with Someone who knows me more deeply than I know myself. I am happy to sit in front of the tenderest of gazes, and be known, and still loved. I am happy.

Adventures

My parents roll their eyes every time I wonder out loud how life as I know it is about to be over. The past four years of little to no responsibility is ending, and the terrible horrible life of being a grown up with a job and bills is beginning. My mother always reminds me that life is just beginning. She assures me that every year of her life has been richer and fuller with joy, wisdom and experience.

She's right of course. I can't see how life could have been anything but infinitely more wonderful as she got older, because she had me as a daughter.

But despite my mother's correct advice, I still felt as if all fun things were finished, adventures were no longer feasible and I ought to look into buying a cat. With this impending doom of old age approaching, I bought plane tickets to Italy. One last adventure before osteoporosis.

To prepare for this European excursion, I had to drive home to the beach to pack up some of my few belongings that didn't make the cut of dorm room appropriate. As I was sifting through old clothes and photographs, I found a true gem. I found my journal from my study abroad trip in high school. What. A. Hoot!

Here are a few glances inside the workings of my 17 year old brain:

[on the flight to switzerland] "A toddler has been crying for about 10 minutes straight with no sign of stopping anytime soon. I have never wanted to tell a child to shut-up until RIGHT NOW."

[on the bus to Italy] "Our bus driver is named Francesco. Hot."

[first day in Italy] "The best part of our day is going to be lunch time, when we are on our own [no chaperones]. The educational part is important, but on our own time, I think, is when we learn the most."

"Italians are feisty drivers, but they are the best drivers I have ever seen. It's like there are no such thing as car accidents!"

"Cultural comparison of the day: Italy has better looking boys! I don't know what's going on in America, but we need some Italian men over there."

"The Sistine Chapel was more beautiful than I could have ever imagined."

[day trip to Capri] "We had two tour guides, Nello and Ivan. Nello was awesome and Ivan was beautiful. Enough said."

"In Greece, you have to pay for water. I like American restaurants better."

"My hotel bathroom has no shower curtain, and you have to hold the shower head up. I think I like American hotels better too."


Shortly after that trip, it was time to graduate high school. Life as I knew it would be over. My mother told me time and again how wonderful her college experience was. She did her best to convince me that adventures are yet to come. Oh dear, this is all starting to sound familiar. My mother reiterates her wisdom everyday, life gets better and better.

And it will. God is good and life is fabulous. Simple as that.

Nostalgia

My mind is a swirly mess of nostalgia, excitement, and sadness. No matter how hard I try, I can't explain to you how I feel. Instead, I am going to remember the things that make me smile, and share them with you here.

-meeting my new roommate on the first day of college and realizing we had matching bedspreads

-donning my bathing suit at 2:00am with some hall mates to go mud-sliding outside of the freshman dorms because it was raining, warm, and we were wide awake

and i still didn't do laundry for a week after that

-my first hangover, followed by my first confession with our chaplain at school

-my first adoration

-picking my major simply because I loved it

-that one time I didn't wake up until 4:00pm

-that other time I didn't wake up until 4:00pm

-being on the coolest intramural soccer team ever, the Dir-T-Birdz (5 time undefeated champions!)

everyone did the birdz wing flap. i made a beak. KAKAW!

-exploring the nations capital, a big switch from beach living

-front row seats near the 50 yard line and an NFL game

wearing my dir-t-birdz shirt :)

-sticking my tongue to a pole during the snowpocalypse

for someone who has watched A Christmas Story 8 million times, you'd think I would have known better

 -being a bridesmaid for my beautiful cousin

-musically and vocally talented friends who share their beautiful gifts with their not-so-talented-but-love-listening-to-people-who-are friends

-summer vacations and spring breaks (they don't have these in the real world, and I will miss them something awful)

-a life-changing mission trip to the Dominican Republic

-college basketball

-the best Halloween costumes EVER

sophomore year- Matilda

junior year- Napoleon Dynamite

senior year-Lucille Ball (won me the costume contest, woot!)

-a real prayer life

-being unabashed about my faith

let me show you how Catholic I am through markers, glitter and poster board (does that nun look familiar??)

This entire list is a list of memories. Happy, sweet memories that I will cherish forever. Soon to be added to the list is walking out of my last final exam, and graduation. And soon after that, I will start a new chapter in life, blank pages waiting to be filled with more great memories.

The final thing I would like to add to this list is all the friends I have made. But the friends I've made can't go down as memories, because I know they will be present for years to come. So here's to good memories and great friends. Cheers, class of 2011!

Mama

My Dearest Mama,

Thank you for reading to me. Thank you for your quiet, sing-song tone when you read Goodnight Moon and Love You Forever. You read to me from infancy, instilling a love for the written word in me so early on. You made it easy to love fiction. You embodied the character of the kind and loving mother. You are the elegant, poised, romantic mother. You have perfect posture and graceful hands. You maintain composure always, like you would imagine a queen to do. Your smile and laugh are not boisterous, but genuine. The few times I have heard you belly-laugh are some of the greatest joys I have experienced.

Anyone who has had the pleasure of tasting one of your culinary creations, knows that they might not ever eat that well again.

You won the 'best-dressed' and 'most-likely-to-succeed' superlatives in your high school. Not a likely combination.

You are the reason I love the beach.

You are the wisest woman I know. I remember you telling me that you were, in fact, my mother, not my best friend. Despite my cries about how all the other girls had "cool moms", you were perfectly content being who I really needed.

When I was a rotten little girl, you would remind me of a nursery rhyme I heard time and again, there was a little girl who had a little curl right in the middle of her forehead, and when she was good she was very good, and when she was bad she was horrid. That was a pretty accurate description, actually. You also told me you hoped one day I would have a little girl just like me.

Whatever little girls I have later in life, I can only hope that I will be as lovely as you. When I catch myself doing something that you would, I think, oh, I am turning into my mother, and I smile. I couldn't be happier.

I'll love you forever
I'll like you for always
As long as I'm living
My mama you'll be

Love,
Ruth Margaret

Happy Birthday Sassy

College can be rough. The total lack of real responsibility can lead to poor time management skills, which lead to the piling up of tests, papers and projects all at once. Maybe you ate the mystery meat at Ciao Hall. Perhaps you got to class late and were forced to sit in the front row, directly in front the professor with overactive salivary glands, a lisp, and an affinity to start the majority of his words with the letter 'S'. But one of the worst things that can happen to a poor college student is an unfortunate random roommate.

If you get stuck living with someone who just isn't the right fit, there isn't much avoiding them. You share the same small cramped space, and sleep within feet of one another. Maybe they are night owls that keep the lights on when you are sleeping, or they listen to terrible music, or they smell terrible.

Luckily for me, none of those things are the case. I have fantastic roommates. Today is one of my roommate's birthdays. Her name is Sassy. It's not her given name, but it's the name I have given her.

Sassy with the Luigi, Me with the walrus

Sassy and I have come to realize that we are very compatible roommates. We enjoy many of the same things. Good music, good food, Jesus, Mary, the Communion of Saints, the forgiveness of sins, you know, the typical stuff.

Sassy teaching me how to live in the communion of saints

There are many things we both enjoy, but perhaps what unites us the most is that we have common enemies: dirty kitchens, tacky decor, the devil, gaining weight, final exams, ugly clothes, people thinking whether or not your clothes are ugly is a subjective matter, and women priests (don't get us started, seriously).

queen of the clean and classy kitchen

tacky clothes--only acceptable at tacky themed parties

We share so many likes and dislikes, but to really think about how great our friendship is, it's marvelous to think about our differences, and how they fit so well.

Like, how I love the English language very much. Despite it's feeble nature, especially when it comes to the word "love", I do my best to abide by its' glorious rules. Sassy on the other hand, has a complete disregard for the rules of grammar and spelling. But we have bonded over proof reading papers, poor texting etiquette and various mispronunciation of words. (It's Valentine, not Valentime, am I right, or am I right?)

Sassy loves to talk about biology. I love to talk about economics. We have been able to share our knowledge. I now know about all sorts of gross viruses and diseases that I will do my best to avoid, and I think she understands that talking about economics at bars doesn't make you any new friends.

my little marathoner

Sassy drinks coffee. I drink tea.

Sassy runs for fun. I do fun things for fun.

Sassy wakes up early. I wake up at the crack of noon.

Sassy drives a little car. I drive a giant boat.

Sassy doesn't read blogs, not even this one. I think that might change.

Sassy hates whipped cream. I enjoy it out of the container.

Sassy loves Jane Austen. I love Roald Dahl.

Sassy can dance. I cannot.



Dearest Sassy, of all the fun times we have had together, my fondest way of knowing you, and how I will always remember you, is as a fellow future saint. Our favorite phrase, one which defines our friendship, is "saints have saints for friends". Even St. Francis had St. Clare.

Not only are we good roommates because of our general enjoyment of cleanliness, but because we build each other up in a way that makes us holier. The goal of our lives is to be saints, and you have helped me realize it is never too soon to start living in the communion of those holy people.

You see the importance of saints for friends, and with all this practice now, think of how much fun it will be when we get there. You're practically a regular with all those cool and holy cats. Thank you for helping me along my way to heaven. You make it really fun.

 

Fun finds

Instead of my usual wit and charm, I am going to share all the random things I find around the internet. I hope you enjoy these as much as I do!


-this girl's fiancee hired a stealth photographer to capture the proposal. then he surprised his soon to be bride with the proposal photos months later! that has got to be one of the best gifts ever!

-movie trailer for Cristiada. this looks amazing!

-one of those little things that makes me happy

-i love dogs. people can learn a lot from them. in this post, Murphy the pug lays out a few of his lessons.

-a friend in the economics department at my school wrote this article about how good economics helps the poor

-a look at Catholicism from the view of a Baptist. he's going to have lots of people praying for his conversion now :)

-a hilarious look at the basic reality of cohabitation

-from one of my favorite bloggers out there right now, this post is exactly what has been swirling around my brain as graduation approaches, and a new life is about to begin! amazing.


- baby in, baby out!



Happy Holy Week! Triduum starts tomorrow!

My little brother

I have the greatest little brother in the whole universe. Try as you may, but you will never convince me otherwise. 

the beachiest and best freckles in our family

Our relationship began on rocky terms. It all began when my mom and dad called my older brother and I into the living room. They sat us down, and looked at us with stern and concerned faces. Will and I both knew we were just going to get talked to about not bothering our grandmother too much, as she had just moved into our home. We had heard it all before. But nanny had hardwood floors, recently finished, SO PERFECT for sock sliding. I knew I had sock slid earlier that afternoon and I was fully prepared to not listen to my parents.

muted freckles in the winter. see the scar above his lip? it's from fighting crime

So they began with "we have something important to talk to you two about", and I, knowing the impending list of rules and regulations about sock sliding and all of the dangers involved, and being unable to hold back my snotty wit, retorted with "oh, don't tell me, you're pregnant", followed with a roll of the eyes.

My parents looked at me, mouths agape. Then at each other. Then back at my older brother and I. And much to my surprise, my mother said, "how did you know?"

Then it was my turn to drop my jaw.

And then came the day of the ultrasound that told us if we were going to have a John Robert or a Mary Grace. Will and I had a bet going. He was convinced it was a boy. I was sure it was a girl. I was the one who picked the name Mary Grace! If it was a boy my hopes and dreams would be dashed, my name-picking genius would be wasted and I would still be the only person in our house who cared about dressing up the dog and American Girl dolls. 

Mom and dad walked in the door, VHS tape in hand. Will and I sat on the couch, wringing our sweaty palms, waiting impatiently to see our little sibling exposed ruthlessly on our television screen.

You're going to have a boy.

Cheers erupt from Will's side of the couch.

Tears and wailing from mine.

But then he came along, according to the doctors, about 2 months too soon. He gave everyone quite the scare, needing an emergency C-section in the middle of the night due to complications from placenta previa.

I remember going to the hospital to see my new little brother and being told I was too young to be allowed in the NICU. But, just like when I found out he was a boy, I turned on the water works, and this time I got my way. I got to go back and see him with tubes in his little tiny nose and a clip with a bright red light on his little tiny toes. He didn't open his eyes, which made me sad, because I had worn my favorite church outfit to see him in the hospital.

The 5 pound little baby that I had to cry to even get a glimpse of has grown into a tall gangly boy who I can barely pick up anymore. His sweet demeanor has made him a favorite among peers and adults. His correct sense of righteousness gave him the guts to stand up to the school bully (and break his own hand in the process). He knows the rosary better than I do. He memorized General Patton's famous speech and delivered it to his 4th grade class, much to the dismay of his teacher and the delight of my father. He told me once, in a very "duh" attitude that he has prayed for his vocation.

My little brother is the only one in our family to never live abroad, the only one without blue eyes, the only one born in the 90s and the only one to take away my long standing position as baby of the clan. He probably doesn't know it, but he was the greatest final addition to our family. My pride is one of my biggest obstacles to holiness, but for little John, I can lay that down and humbly say he is the greatest littlest sibling.

I'm a Local

My cousin came to visit me recently. She is my mountain cousin. I was her beach cousin, but because of life's interesting, fortunate and unfortunate (depending on how you look at it) circumstances, I am her city cousin now.

mountain cousin in pink scarf and city cousin in blue scarf

I took her around some fun D.C. sites. Actually, she planned her own tour, I just sort of tagged along and pretended to play tour guide. But in any event, I got to play in the city that I have been near for almost four years, worked in for 3 months last summer, and am about to start working in full time.

It took someone new, a visitor, to get me to appreciate what I already knew. I am queen of the metro. I can drive on a roundabout. Food trucks are fabulous. Lobster roll from a four-wheeled vehicle? Bulgogi tacos? Pupusas? Yes please and thank you. I can take tourist photos and still be cool, because I'm actually a local. I can break the law. You heard me. I walk across crosswalks when the red hand is emploring me to stay put, and my sweet little mountain cousin sprints after me, afraid of oncoming traffic, but more afraid to be left alone on one side of the block.

pupusas, YUM

I can even walk through a modern art exhibit without making fun of everything I see. Unless it's the Phillips Collection. Or the Hirshorn. I seriously don't get modern art. But my mountain cousin loves it, and I love her, so I can't hate on Mark Rothko and Blinky Palermo too much.

Art?

Also art?

Mountain cousin, viewing art?

Mountain cousin's visit bringing a newfound sense of appreciation for my proximity to the city and my knowledge of the area is not a unique thing. I realized in her visit how I am getting the same experience every time I meet someone who wants to learn about the faith. I am especially blessed to be sponsoring a candidate for RCIA this year. She asks me the hard questions, the real questions, the questions that I need to know and believe myself if I want to call myself a follower of Christ.

As Catholic Christians, we can't get too comfortable in our own little Catholic pow-wows. We need the Church, and our "supply line", if you will, of Catholic friends who can help us with our own questions, but we are a culture of evangelization. We have been called by Christ to baptize people, but not to worry because He is with us always. It was good for him to leave us, because while he was a man on earth, he could be one place at one time, but after he ascended to heaven, the Holy Spirit descended down upon us so Jesus could be present in every tabernacle around the world.

Every future saint we meet in our lives changes and shapes us. Every soul we meet along the way has something beautiful to offer us. To be able to appreciate something old-hat for what feels like the first time is a gift given to us through others.

We are the locals. We are the ones whose job it is to evangelize and play tour guide for our universal home that is God's Church.

Sunday Funday

Are you enjoying this fine Sunday in Lent? Are you reveling in whatever good and wonderful thing you have chosen not to partake in Monday-Saturday?

I hope you are. I hope you are celebrating the Eucharist this fine day. I hope you woke up with a smile. I hope you are gobbling girl scout cookies and if you are my father, perhaps you will enjoy a good brew with dinner tonight.

Today is the one day a week I can listen to music. And oh, am I! I have been blessed in many many ways. A decent singing voice was not one of those blessings. Someone once told me that if God gives you a great voice, sing loud. If God doesn't give you a good voice, sing louder and make Him wish that He did. Nonetheless, I'm singing along, off-key, off-beat, and proud. I am dancing when the mood strikes and rolling down all four of my car windows, no matter what the temperature outside


I never make a playlist, I enjoy knowing that when I press "random", it isn't random at all. Each song, every chord and lyric streams through the airwaves with a purpose for my ears to hear.

Jack Johnson-Do You Remember? I sure do, every time I hear that song I think of freshman year, making memories, mud sliding at 2:00AM because it was soggy outside and sleep was something old people did. I remember meeting all those new faces in late August, and thinking now how they will be familiar faces for the rest of my life. I remember my favorite jeans, my pile of tee shirts, my long hippie hair, and seriously considering dread locks. Seriously. I remember more than you think could be packed into 2 minutes and 24 seconds.

Michael Buble-Home. The idea of what my "home" is has been ever present in my thoughts lately. I am officially a grown up. I graduate in 5 weeks and I have a big kid, pack your own lunches, no jeans allowed job. My drive back to the D.C. area after spring break was bittersweet. Mom, Dad, Will, John, Daisy and the beach, all fading in my rear view. The unknown ahead of me. But I am lucky. I am part of a family where I can feel at home anywhere there is a tabernacle. Praise God.

Earth Wind & Fire-September. Excuse me while I dance with my roommates. It's sort of our favorite song to dance to. And we also open the doors and windows, so anyone within earshot can enjoy it too.


And the songs continue, Hootie and the Blowfish just brighten my day. Taylor Swift makes me feel every emotion all at once. I'm pretty sure she has read my diary. Sprinkle that with some nostalgic 90s pop songs, and finish it up with Rod Stewart telling me I'm in his heart. And every Sunday is a new mix of melodies. Oh Joy.

And to top it all off, the best part about this Sunday Funday, even better than listening to the radio, is going to Mass. Celebrating the Eucharist, is a much bigger party than dancing to September with my roommates. There isn't quite as much crazy dancing and belt-it-out singing, but hearts do dance, and souls do sing. And even though my vocal chords weren't blessed with the greatest harmonies, I know God has blessed each and every person with a heart song that He loves to listen to.

Mysterious Ways

I haven't been posting much at all lately. Just one year ago, I started this little blog, with a firm Lenten resolution to post regularly. That wasn't my resolution this year, but I still try to write a new post somewhat continuously.

I have a funny process for how a blog post makes it to the "published" world of the internet. It all begins with a thought. These little blog thoughts come to me in wonderful ways. Sometimes they come through prayer or spiritual reading, other times interactions with friends, and my favorite is to be inspired by a fleeting moment whereupon I am struck by a fantastic whim, a true gem of an idea. I can attribute all these only to God sending little messages to me though the most remarkably ordinary things. I began this blog as an outlet for my daily reveries, and the blog itself has ended up being another one of those remarkably ordinary things for God to show me something new. It has helped me to look at everything in a way that makes His presence known. Random things don't happen randomly anymore in my life.

After I catch that little inspiration, I hold on tightly. I study it for a time. I make sure my thought process isn't so much like spaghetti, but more like rotini. (You see, with spaghetti, you can't make sense of it, you can't tell where one noodle begins and ends. But rotini is bite-size, but still twirly and fun. Unlike penne, which is also bite size but frankly a little boring. Unless spaghetti gets you a kiss with the tramp, that handsomely scruffy pup, it is no good for a quick blog post.)

My next step is to stop thinking about pasta. And then I start to write. And save. And write. And edit. And edit. And take out that lame joke. And that other one. And so on.

And then it sits in my endless list of posts that were started, and saved, and wait to be published until it strikes their author's fancy.

And here I am , it's been weeks since a real and inspired post. But that is because the final step in my funny little blog posting process is that each and every post must sound like me. At least the way I think I sound. And lately I haven't been myself.

But then something spectacular happened! God, who works tirelessly each and every day to love me, sent me a sweet little thought through none other than a blog post and one of my favorite bands.

And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.

-mumford & sons.

So thanks Anna, for being an instrument of God's love, and thanks Mumford & Sons, for speaking to my heart with music and lyrics. I think I will wear a flower in my hair tomorrow.

Why do we let girls dress like that?

Great article, read it here. (H/T Tala Burnison)

Out of the Woodworks

Why is it that so many people go to Ash Wednesday Mass? Do they know it's not a holy day of obligation? Now I have to think of a name for this group of people. People who only attend on Christmas and Easter are easy enough, they are called Creasters. You know, the ones who make it impossible to find a seat on the big days. I really think there should be priority seating for the regulars. Adding Ash Wednesday to the mix would just be really hard to abbreviate and come up with a new title.

Crashters? I'm working on it.

But seriously, why are there so many people attending our humble little noon mass on campus that I have never seen before? Sure, we might capture the older crowd, like professors and other adults who have their own parishes, and mass on campus was just the most feasible time. We might also get a few of the commuter students who go to mass at home with their family. But this can hardly be a sum total for all the other random students who can never seem to drag their behinds to the 8pm and 10pm student masses on Sunday. That's right folks, PM.

The only reason I can think for such high attendance rates is the visible sign of ashes. It's a noticeable and telling sign of what day it is. I guess we don't get any outwardly visible signs on any given Sunday. Palms are always exciting. They give you a little project to do when the homily stops holding your attention, and they look so pretty all folded up in the shape of the cross.

But I think I have a solution. We can make every Sunday mass noticeable, and attractive to the creasters.

Wait for it

Drum roll

.....

Get dressed up! Look presentable! Ladies, it's just as easy to slip on a dress (easier in fact, because it's only one item) than it is to put on jeans. Gents, would a shirt and tie be too much to ask? If so, I could settle for some khakis.

If you were going to meet the president, or the queen of England, would you wear a sloppy outfit? I certainly hope not. What if you were going to meet God? Think about it. And go comb your hair, wash behind the ears, and leave early for mass, because with all the fresh faces and classy outfits, it might be hard to find a seat!

Ready or Not

It's Ash Wednesday, the day we all get to be reminded that one day we are going to die.

Morbid? It's not, but I learned a lot of people who know nothing about it think so when you explain it to them that way. I'm not an awkward person, I just do awkward things.

One liturgical year ago minus one day I began this blog. So much has changed in one year, and the posts on this blog couldn't contain all that has happened.

Until I have finished the day, I can't give much a reaction to this particular Ash Wednesday, but I invite you to read my post from last year.

Here's hoping for a life-changing Lent!

Detachment

Lately, all my thoughts, prayers and blog posts have related to the present moment. Now God has decided to teach me a new lesson, just in time for Lent: detachment.

I put holy rollers in my hair today and decided to live order, and live presently. It started off so well.

My day began with scones and tea with some lovely ladies, then Mass, then Latin Mass (because if you can go twice, why the heck not?), then the local chocolate festival, because I wanted to make sure my salivary glands were in proper working condition before Mardi Gras, then puddle stomping because it was raining, and because I have great tall boots and the maturity level of a child when it rains. Or when it's sunny, snowing, windy, or warm. Then I got to talk to a group of people about my experience doing mission work in the Dominican Republic, which was basically just me reminiscing audibly in front of a group.

And there I was, fat and happy, pleased with my day. I marched triumphantly back into my apartment, swinging wide the door, announcing my entrance and wallowing in my consolation. And thus begins my lesson in detachment.

It all started innocently, when I put some water in a pot and to boil broccoli. That's some healthy, orderly living. Fresh vegetables, Mama would be proud. I wasn't always this good. In fact, I'm pretty sure there was a solid 5 or 6 years of my childhood in which my diet consisted of flour tortillas and shredded cheese. Microwaved for 35 seconds, wrapped in a paper towel, not on a plate, so that the moisture retention was just so. Perfection.

I digress.

So there I am, in my apartment, in front of our shattered oven door because we live on campus and pay way too much for things that fall apart because campus kitchens weren't built for people like my roommates and me who aspire to be pastry chefs, mothers and Martha Stewart clones. I digress again.

Broccoli florets bobbing happily in their bubble bath of ominous digestive doom, and then a phone call!

Should I answer? I let it ring once. Twice. I run to the phone. I run back to the broccoli. Three rings. I'm sweating. Not out of nervousness, just because I ran about 4 steps to and from the stove top.

And then, I remember this little blog, where I profess to be trying to live in the present moment. And of course, I should answer the phone, be the communal and relational being I was created to be.

It was a pleasantly casual conversation between friends.

Puffed up with joy, I skip merrily over to my roommate's bedroom to giggle and laugh and be joyful. On my way, mid skip and giggle, I see a puffing engine of steam. Oh BUSY.

I overcooked my broccoli to the point of mush because I was engrossed in a conversation. Now the only food items I have are shredded cheese, an egg, and an apple.

But my inner 7 year old is rejoicing. I think I'll go get some flour tortillas.

My Catholic Boy

Thanks to my friend Liz for sharing this video! (Lyrics below)




I love the way you love to pray when things get scary
Oh, what I would do to be with you and say a quick Hail Mary
Your faith is so real, boy, it ain't poser-y
Your prayer life includes a daily Rosary

You say that you like to reflect on the Psalms
I think that I'd like to take you home to meet my mom
You make me blush red like an apple
when I see you sit in Adoration in the chapel

You're my Catholic boy
You're my Catholic joy
You're my Catholic boy
and I'm waiting for you

St. Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael, and you
My 4 favorite angels, my favorite dudes
Where's your wings? Where's your scapular?
Oh, you want a big family too? well, isn't that just spectacular!

Just like St. Therese, my vocation is Love,
married life, motherhood, all of the above
Charm is deceptive and beauty is fleeting
so won't you flee with me to my Pro-Life club meeting?

You're my Catholic boy
You're my Catholic joy
You're my Catholic boy
and I'm waiting for you

You're praising and worshiping, how angelic
Won't you just kiss me and make me a second class relic?
It doesn't necessarily have to be today
cause your purity ring lets me know that you know true love waits

You're my Catholic boy
You're my Catholic joy
You're so fine
Baby, you're Divine
You're my Catholic boy
and I'm waiting for you
You're my Catholic boy
and I'm waiting for you

This NEVER gets old

Maybe you have seen this before. I have seen it at least 9 zillion times. Watch, enjoy, giggle, repeat.




Also, I found this article incredibly interesting. A man's point of view on "nice Catholic girls". I can't decide who would find this more interesting, women or men. (H/T Elizabeth Foss)

A Dirty Four-Letter Word

Update: This whole post gives a great big hat tip to Nick Lee!


Oh boy are there plenty of dirty words to choose from. Pretty sure I've said them all in my day, even some that have a few more letters. But hey, if you grabbed a hot pan from the oven with your bare hand, stubbed your toe, or own an annoying alarm clock, you might too. But of all those terrible words we gasp at, I propose one more be added to the list:

Busy.

That's right. Busy.

Before you go and get your undies in a bunch because you think I have no idea what busy actually means, consider that you are probably right, and just keep reading.

Have you ever had something fantastic happen to you, and you just can't enjoy it because of stress?

I had something lovely happen to me the other day. Someone asked me for advice. What a blessing! The fact that I can appear to anyone as having any ability to give good advice means there is really no choice but to believe that God is real and His Holy Spirit can work miracles. Move aside Thomas Aquinas, my goofy awkward, oven mitt-less pan grabbing, toe stubbing witness alone is proof enough.

But in the middle of listening to someone speaking openly an honestly about the happenings of their life, I got distracted thinking about all the things that I procrastinated that day. What a devilish little nuisance.

If we are who we are supposed to be, doing what we are supposed to be doing, (read: saints doing God's will), then we should never feel busy to the point of neglecting Jesus in disguise.

When we are busy, that is, caught up in ourselves, we can't live in the present moment, and we can't mimic Christ's love. It is my life long goal to live in the present moment. Not the hippie Eat Pray Love way (what a crappy movie), but the Mother Teresa, St. Faustina way! Get rid of the busy, bring on the holy.

Busy.

We say it all the time, maybe even in good conscience. For example, I would love to help you work in that orphanage, but I am incredibly busy feeding the homeless. Other times, it is just our generic excuse for being unable to attend events, schedule meetings, or get work done. Sometimes we might even say without a trace of charity in our voice. All those intentions aside, I am adding to my list of dirty words to poorly attempt to avoid, at least until I stub my toe.

Beach or Bust

I want a vanity plate. Or perhaps I should say 'personalized license plate', lest Ecclesiastes comes and shakes a finger at me. Every idea I have for my seven characters of space to define my entire car driving self always comes back to the word BEACH, or some variation. Or maybe, SNDYTOS, or SALTEE? I've got the rest of my driving years to figure it out.

My love for all things beach is gigantic. If I held my arms as far apart as they would go, I think my soft spot for salt, sand and sun would still be bigger than that. I am blessed enough to have never lived far from the ocean, in fact, going to school near D.C. is the farthest from the ocean I have ever been for such an extended period of time. Thanks Dad, for choosing a career that needs you near the ocean, even though you hate the beach. (He wears socks and tennis shoes to the beach. But we love him anyway.)

I took a 4 day sabbatical from life this past weekend. I had been having an interesting week, having a few curve balls thrown my way rather unexpectedly. My mom called me on Thursday afternoon and said, "it's supposed to be 75 degrees here tomorrow, come home tonight and we can go to the beach all weekend!". What a good mom.

So I went, I drove all night, and got up nice and early the next morning to just get some sand in my hair and vitamin D on my skin. Every time I park on the ocean side of 72nd and Atlantic, and cross over the dune ramp, I get goosebumps. God gave the world the most awesome, beautiful, inspiring, wonderful, tear-jerking beauty. From the vastness of an ocean to the intricacies of every seashell, God thought of my smile, relishing in the idea of the day I would enjoy His creation.

You see, God is after our hearts. He works tirelessly and always to romance us, to widen our eyes with amazement and broaden our smiles. When he died for us, his arms were open wide, saying this is how much I love you.

I walked back to my car, as the weather was getting cooler and I knew my mini vacation was over. I usually shake off as much sand as possible before getting into my car, but this time I brought it with me. My little car was going to bring me back to my responsibilities and academic life, but just because its license plate doesn't display my love for the beach (yet), its floorboards were going to. Sand and all.

Currently Reading

The Joy of Full Surrender by Jean-Pierre de Caussade.



I started this book a number of weeks ago. Before I had any real responsibilities (if you can call what I do now responsible), that was enough time for me to plow through at least 4 or 5 books. But now, I am an old weary woman who takes her time reading. If I gave myself any benefit, I would say it is because I am becoming more thoughtful when I read, absorbing each and every part of the book in due time. But we all know that's rubbish.

Did you read that last sentence with a British accent? I did.

I have so many great little thought nuggets and pearls of wisdom underlined and highlighted throughout the book, but the Magnificat made it pretty clear which one I should feature in my realm of the blogosphere. [To read the full excerpt, check page 293 of your February Magnificat.]

My favorite part is this:

"When God's designs and will are embraced with simplicity by a faithful soul, they produce this divine state in it without its knowing it, just as medicine taken obediently by a sick man effects his cure, even though he neither knows nor is capable of knowing anything about the medicine."

All too often I get caught up in my intellectual snobbery, my need to explain, defend, and show off Catholicism. I am a sick physician, prescribing the medication but not taking my own advice. de Caussade goes on:

"If we wish to quench our thirst, we must lay aside books which explain thirst, and take a drink."

If only inner peace came through a faucet. To embrace God's designs and will is simple, but not easy. At least not for me. To simply and faithfully accept the life you have been granted; oh isn't that the art of living. And what better way to live your life gracefully, who better to trust than the Artist Himself.