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.