Confessions, St. Augustine

More of an Idiot: Confessions, St. Augustine: "Now that I have finished this book, I can't believe how long it took me to read it. I think, somehow, I have retained the idea that classics, especially non-fiction ones and those in translation, are difficult reads. Lies. However, let me make a few clarifications. I read a 1961 Penguin Classics edition with a translation that was accessible. If I had found another version, I may have found the going a little tougher. Also, I have been a long time at reading this book. I picked it up about a year ago, left my borrowed copy at home when I returned to St. Louis, bought a copy, read it for a bit, got distracted by the Epistles, picked it up again, got distracted by novels, finally decided I needed to finish, and devoured the last five or six books.

In his Confessions, Augustine describes his story of gradual conversion and the consequences of it. He shares his life before and after he realized the Truth of the Church, with an emphasis on the process of change. His story covers philosophy, as he seeks the meaning of concepts such as Truth and Beauty; identity, as he seeks to know God in the Trinity and himself; and morality, as he struggles with the lifestyle implications of the Christian Way.

I knew intellectually that people see Augustine as still applicable to the world today, but the modernity of his questions and struggles struck me. He follows the ways of the intellectuals of his time who have twisted the way of truth to make it easier. He prays, famously, "God grant me continence and chastity, but not yet." He longs to give his life to God, but does not go all the way, holds back. And God breaks through all his opposition, partly through the steadfast intervention of his mother.

After his conversion, Augustine begins to chronicle some of the blessing which God has bestowed upon him and to meditate on some lines of Scripture. In fact, he starts with Genesis 1:1a : "In the beginning." After writing at length he moves on to Genesis 1:1 : "In the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth." He lost my interest for a while as he mused over abstract ideas of time and matter, mostly because he has a tendency to repeat himself seven or eight times over in the section. However, in the last book, he writes that he does not have the time, nor his readers the energy (true!) to go through the Scripture in such detail, and he addresses the six days of Creation in one fell swoop, regaining my interest.

If you are Catholic, read this book. If you are a non-Catholic type of Christian, read this book. Augustine speaks of joining the Catholic Church, but he wrote at a point in history where all our modern denominations did not exist. If you are not a Christian, I still recommend it for an interesting theological and philosophical read. It would be an excellent book for a discussion group, because it has a lot to digest."

Let's Project the Hymn's Words on the Wall!

Protestant congregations do it. Not all of them, not all the time, but it certainly isn't unheard of to find a screen or blank wall and projector in some church. When we want to suggest something ludicrous, I joke with Catholic friends or coworkers that we should place screens and projectors on either side of the altar. So I had a momentary laugh to myself on Christmas Sunday, when I sat down in my grandmother's parish and saw a projector on the ceiling. However, I assured myself that it was not used during Mass and probably just cast that lovely spotlight on the crucifix.

After a nice Christmas homily, the priest told us that he was going to show us "a little video." The projector came on, and the "video" began. Within the first few words, I knew I recognized it : a commercial from Catholics Come Home. If you haven't seen the commercials, check them out here. I mostly watched in shock, thinking, Are they really projecting something above the crucifix? Really?

My mother processed more (maybe because she's better at being up at 7:30 without caffeine, food, or exercise, at least one of which needs to be in my system for me to wake up) and pointed out the rationale behind showing that particular video on that particular day. Besides being Jesus' birthday, what is Christmas? The day when everyone comes to church (though Easter has its fair share of the crowds). The priest meant the video to call out to those Catholics who came only once or twice a year... a different approach to the "We do this every Sunday!"

Incarnational

Around this time last year, I decided that I couldn't be a serious Catholic blogger if I ignored Christmas. So, I present to you my second annual Christmas post on the Feast of the Holy Innocents.

Today, Father accidentally referred to the Octave which we are currently celebrating as the "Octave of Easter." He was a few months off. However, it served as a reminder of the connection between the two Holy Days.

When we decorated for Christmas, we took the crucifix off the wall in the living room. I was not a huge fan of this decision. (As much as I hate the fights Christians have over externals, such as art work, I fall into miniature versions at home. Not cool, Beth.) Christmas can be fluffy and full of cozy visions of the Christ-Child in a warm manger... but then it is missing something. It is missing the rest of the story of the Incarnation, a story that carried through the life and ministry of Jesus, that continued through the Last Supper, the Passion, Death, and Resurrection, and did not end at the Ascension, but lives on in the Church today. It's a rich and textured story that draws together a baby wrapped with love and a man stripped naked without compassion. It draws together a stable and a hilltop. A cross and a crib. A Savior... and sinners who are becoming saints.

Computer Update

Friends and faithful followers! I have excellent news : my faithful, beloved, and inexpressibly slow laptop is functional once again.

This post is a huge shout-out to Best Buy's Geek Squad. I am not a shout-out to huge companies type girl, but they made my day. I brought my poor lappie into Best Buy and explained my problem. The Geek Squad guy told me essentially it wasn't worth their time or my money to replace a five-and-a-half year old laptop's fan. I should just buy a new laptop. Before I had the chance to be too crushed however, he was running all sorts of diagnostics on my computer, after which he told me the good news. It appeared to be only the fan. So he clicked a few things and got it to boot up without starting the fan. He told me that an external fan would be cheap and a good temporary fix that might extend my poor lappie's life another year. He pointed out the cooling pads to me; I smiled and said thank you and bought myself a little place for my laptop to live.

Now my laptop is cooler and quieter than it has been for a little bit. I'm (still) backing up my data and saving money for its final breaths, but for now I had a fix quicker and cheaper than I was expecting. Thank you, Geek Squad!

On Fire, Dancing, and Feminism

The best part about coming up north when it starts to get cold is the fireplace. My father keeps a fire going every night, and our basement gets warm and toasty, in comparison to the chilly upstairs and the frigid outside.

When I was little, my dad always built the fire. If he was out of town or at a meeting for an evening, the state of the fire was doubtful. Sometimes my mother would attempt to make a fire (I think she loves the fireplace more than I do), but we all knew that building a fire challenged Mom more than Dad. Sometimes, when he was gone, the fire was an utter fail.

At the end of high school, I found a creative solution to the problem of the difficulty of a fire with the absence of my dad : a boyfriend. To make a sweeping generalization, high school guys, especially those still in Scouts, love fire. So on snow days and school holidays, he would come over and make us fire. Around the same period, my brother went off to college, and he decided during his semester break that he wanted to keep the fire going 24-7. Father, brother, boyfriend = can make fire. Anyone seeing a pattern here?

Finally, one winter, finding my brother and father away from the house, and myself boyfriendless, I decided to employ the skills I had learned during a summer as a camp counselor and a summer living at Yosemite National Park. If I could build fire in a fire circle, why couldn't I build one in a fireplace?

I had a remarkable I am Woman; hear me roar moment that repeats itself, just a little, every time I bring a cold fireplace or a tiny red ember into warm, crackling flames. Which struck me as hilarious yesterday compared to the last strong gender-roles-awareness moment I had.

One of my friends got married recently in a beautiful Catholic ceremony that blended US Catholicism, Mexican Catholicism, and traditional Latin chants. Afterward, a mariachi band heralded their arrival at the reception, playing Latin tunes that got my feet tapping. So I responded eagerly when asked to dance.

All my life I have known that I can't dance. It's a fact of life, similar to the fact that I have an excellent sense of direction and can't keep track of time. In recent months, however, I have begun to realize that although I can get myself unlost and I am inevitably late, my dancing skills are not as hopeless as I like to pretend. Given the condition that I have a strong lead. Preferably a strong lead who dances more to have fun than to dance correctly, because I still have no clue what I am doing. Just when someone else is guiding me, I can dance in spite of having no clue what I am doing. However, it breaks my feminist heart to say, "I can dance, but only if I have a strong lead." So much for defying stereotypes.

My approach to feminism has to incorporate both of these parts of being a woman : making fire and liking to dance with a strong lead. Because I am a woman, I both dance and light fires as a woman. That is my first understanding of femininity : it is an integral part of my identity. Everything I do, I do as a woman.

It means that I do not lay aside my femininity when I am self-sufficient enough to light a fire. It means I do not lay aside my feminism when I dance. It means I am constantly navigating the conundrum of letting men be men while being my own strong woman. From what I've heard, courtesy of the men in my life, that can be equally as challenging. Men complain that women try to lead. Women complain that men don't know how to dance. The omnipresent "they" make remote control fireplaces so that no one needs to light a fire anymore. It's all very symbolic and very confusing.

Do I have the solutions and the answers? Of course not. But I'm working on it, one day, one fire, one dance at a time.

On God and Politics

Once again, I share with you my admiration of Stephen Colbert. I really appreciate how much he gets spot-on about Christianity and the way his satire allows him to get away with it. However, as one of my friends pointed out, those issues that separate the Democratic party from the ministry of Jesus are, well, rather important. And, of course, political action must go hand-in-hand with a life-style that reflects the same values, something none of us do perfectly.

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
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Retreat Above the Bookstore

If I try to play catch-up, I will be at it forever, but I do have a couple stories I want to tell from around the time of the Death of the Laptop.

Right before, I went on retreat with the Daughters of St. Paul in Alexandria. Their ministry is evangelization of and through the media. They have "book centers," where they sell Catholic stuff. So when I went on retreat with them, I got to stay above the book store -- up a little hidden staircase into a maze-like living space.

Normally, when I am on retreat, I go out into the middle of nowhere. This retreat took place in the city, which meant we had all the noise and bustle of NoVA outside the walls. We took advantage of this location on Saturday afternoon, when we went for a prayer walk.

I had never done anything like that before. We walked through the city and people-watched and prayed for the people we saw on the walk. It's a type of intercessory prayer I've never thought of before, and it made me understand a little better how God calls us to hold the world up to Him in prayer. We saw a good variety of people, as tend to hang out in Alexandria, and ended up along the water-front and at the Torpedo Factory Art Studio, another good place for that type of prayer.

Later that night, we "prayed the news": watching the evening news and afterward offering prayers for the people and situations brought to our attention there. Both of these prayers focused so centrally on other people and offered a way to do the work of social justice -- as long as you believe in the power of prayer. And the power of prayer was one of my take-home points for the weekend.

Day-Maker #16

Motorized bicycle. That's all that needs to be said.

Etiquette with Miss E

I have recently learned that getting a name on my blog is a big deal among my group of friends. Emily, especially, has been trying for a while to get a nickname... which was hard, because my computer is still non-functional, so my blogging has been minimal. But -- did you see that, Emily? You have a name now!

The occasion?

A couple weeks ago, I sneezed during Mass. A male friend of mine reached out and offered me a handkerchief. I turned it down, more as a result of reflex than conscious thought. A couple days later, the same young man offered a handkerchief to a girl he did not know in the student center, who had chocolate all over her fingers. These instances made me wonder : What happens next?

Handkerchiefs have fallen out of the mainstream. I know 2-3 people who carry them, one of whom is my father. I have never been offered a handkerchief before that day, and I'm willing to bet this experience is common to most women. So, very few women would know what to do after using a chivalrously offered handkerchief.

The solution to my dilemma : I discovered that Emily had been to finishing school. I had my very own etiquette expert! After discussing the question with her, I decided that Etiquette Lessons with Miss E had to be a new addition to my blog. Each week, I will email Emily a question and report her answer to you, my faithful readers. Do you have etiquette questions of your own? Send them my way, and they will make their way to Miss E!


Lesson One: The Handkerchief

What does a lady do if a gentleman offers her a handkerchief and she uses it?

She takes it home and washes it, of course. With giggling and batting of eyelashes appropriate to her level of interest in him. Which, of course, also informs the speed at which he gets it back -- kind of like when your high school crush loans you his sweatshirt. If, as was the case with the girl in the student center, she will never see him again, she has gained for herself a new handkerchief! Except, of course, that girl. Since it was only chocolate on her fingers, she could have folded it neatly and given it back to him.

As a final note, be careful! According to Miss E, any self-respecting lady knows that bodily fluids are a very important matter. The exchange of bodily fluids, as any gentleman who carries a handkerchief knows, is tantamount to the promise of marriage. If he takes your snot home, he might bring a ring back.

Day-Maker #15

Today, an old Facebook photo of a friend came up on my profile, because someone commented on it. I looked back at the photo of two friends and remembered how much I had loved the expression of the man in the background, looking off pensively into the sky. To my surprise, I recognized him : Percy's new roommate! It's a small world!

Black Screen of Dooom

My laptop currently beeps at me and tells me it has a "fan error" when I try to turn it on. So if my posts come with less frequency, you know why.

Thanksgiving?!?

It came, somehow. I'm not sure where the entire month of November went, but all of a sudden I was having a birthday and a Thanksgiving. Who knew?

I traveled home on Tuesday night to avoid the Wednesday rush and enjoy those new 70mph speed limits. This travel plan gave me Wednesday, Thursday, and some of Friday to enjoy the company of my family, although not all of us made it home for Thanksgiving. I suppose I was the missing one last year, but it felt incomplete.

On Thursday I got down to the serious business of cooking. We were having dinner at my aunt's house, so the heavy-duty cooking happened there. However, I made my first-ever sweet potato casserole. I couldn't find a recipe that was quite what I wanted. One of my sisters was highly skeptical as she watched me mash the potatoes and then open the spice cabinet and start smelling things. As I threw in brown sugar, butter, milk, allspice, and ginger, I made her taste it. In the end, I had a delicious dish from no recipe.

Family dinners always degenerate into political, philosophical, or religious discussions with this side of the family, which is probably how I acquired my taste for that kind of conversation. This time, we hashed out WWI, WWII, Iraq, and Afghanistan in light of my mother's pacifistic tendencies. (A lot of her world views mirror Father Dude's, even to the point of how they phrase things.) It's funny how sometimes I can see just how my family formed me.

Day-Maker #14

Past Christmas lights on my neighbor's porch, I can see snow falling in the streetlights above the brick path.

A Tale of Two Cities, Charles Dickens

More of an Idiot: "I have read the beginning and the end of this book several times before, but have never made it all the way through. Until now. In case you don't know, the novel follows the story of the French Revolution through the lens of Dr. Manette, who is released from the Bastille at the beginning of the novel; Lucie, his daughter; and her eventual husband, the French aristocrat, Charles Darnay. Dickens also spends a good deal of time in France, among the peasants, who are simultaneously oppressed and bloodthirsty.

I found Dickens's narration of history very hard to get through, both because it is dense and wordy and because I am not much of a history person. I wanted to take a pen and slice out a third of the words he used. Especially when he went on about kings and aristocrats and massacres and politics. Again, though, that is in part due to my interests. On the other hand, I fell in love with his good-hearted scoundrel character (a tendency of mine), and, in general, enjoyed the plot lines and the way Dickens wove them together. Mostly though, I just feel better read for having actually worked my way through the entire novel at last."

A Visitor!

So there was this time I worked at Yosemite National Park. Actually, in a round-about way, that was how this blog started. I served on a ministry team out there. I haven't seen most of the team for three years. However, a week ago Saturday, I had a guest : one of my teammates from Yosemite came down from Pittsburgh with an Ultimate team that she coaches! We walked through the 'burg and had a slumber party, and in general enjoyed each other's company. And that's all there is to that story.

Where from Here?

I can't believe I'm still playing catch-up! Now, I am at a week ago Wednesday.

Most (if not all) of my loyal readers know me in real life, so most (if not all) of my loyal readers know that I organized CCM's first-ever career fair. We have a strong CCM at the College, but one place we have to grow is in the transition from CCM into the Real World. In all honesty, the transition from college to life is hard. For many college students, the pre-scripted life path ends with graduation from college. We've gone from elementary school to middle school to high school to college, because, well, that's what we do. After graduation however, our future opens up into one frightening blank. No matter what we do in CCM, I don't think we can make that step overarchingly easy. That doesn't mean we can't help.

I had the idea at the beginning of this year that we should educate CCMers about what one can do within the Church. A "job fair" setting seemed logical, so I reserved a room and began sending out email after email to groups I thought should have a presence. Then I started searching various resources to discover new groups. Then I started hearing back -- a lot of "no"s, but often with suggestions of more contacts. I went for everything : graduate schools, service programs, justice and peace groups, charitable organizations, religious vocations, lay ministry... Ultimately, about a dozen people came representing all these categories.

Once I had enough "yes"s from groups that I knew we would have more guests than a handful of wonderful Sisters, I started worrying that no students would come. I advertised on Facebook, got into the campus listserv, hung flyers, and reserved a poster space in the student center. It became every third sentence out of my mouth when talking to our Board.

Students came. They came from the College, as well as from one east and one west of us. (Those schools brought their campus ministers too, who liked the program!) Some good conversations were had, both at the event and at the dinner afterward. I learned some details to change, and I will leave notes from my replacement, because I want it to happen again next year. I can see this event growing and becoming something bigger and better as time goes on.

Incremental Steps

"Even this narrow exception of condom use, however, is an acknowledgment by the pope that the journey to holiness is usually a long-term process...[I]ncremental steps, which may or may not withstand moral scrutiny on their own, can reflect long-term moral growth in the context of a greater path to holiness." ~John Mattras, of Busted Halo (my emphasis)

Pope Benedict XVI's comments on condoms and AIDS have been all over the news, overshadowing anything else he spoke about in his recently released interview-book. Here is the official news from the Vatican on that book. If you've been anywhere near the internet for the past three or four days, you have heard the uproar from all sorts of people in all sorts of forums. The Busted Halo article on the subject talks about gradations of morality -- that some sins are graver than others -- which stays in line with Catholic teachings. If you want a more official perspective, the Vatican clarified what the Pope meant. And did it again, in a shorter form, if you don't have much of an attention span.

From what I understand, nothing the Pope said is horribly revolutionary, though it certainly is a new addition to the conversation about AIDS. As I commented yesterday, society likes to lose track of what things are. A condom is not objectively evil. A condom is a thing. Things in and of themselves have no moral weight. The way in which something is used has moral weight. Now the Pope distinguishes between manners of using things and surprises everyone, because even most Catholics have come to think that condoms are evil.

Pumpkin Pie

A week ago Wednesday the Freshmen Outreach team held one of CCM's most awesome events of the year: Freshmen Pie Night (made of real freshmen). In preparation I had two pie-making occasions. Tuesday night, I aided two CCM guys (a grad and a law student) in pie-baking. They contributed an apple and a key lime pie, respectively.

Monday was mine own pie day. I took one of the pumpkins that we had purchased for CCM's Halloween party and proceeded to turn it into food. By which I mean, I gutted it, pulling out the seeds and cleaning them. Then I chopped it into pieces and steamed it. After steaming it, I took the peel off and stuck it into the blender to end with pumpkin puree. I baked the seeds and used the puree to make a pie. I had gone from round, Jack-o-Lantern-to-be to FOOD!

Now comes the point where I wax metaphorical. As I was turning pumpkin into food, I was listening to beautifully twangy country music and musing over the fact that I was getting food from a pumpkin. Almost every year as a child, I helped pick out a pumpkin, and we carved it into a jack-o-lantern. In fact, every time I have purchased a pumpkin or witnessed the purchasing of a pumpkin, it has been to create a jack-o-lantern. At the same time, I have eaten pumpkin pies, pumpkin bread, pumpkin cookies, pumpkin muffins... you get the picture. Yet never had I seen the process of transformation from round, orange gourd into pulpy puree. Pumpkin to carve is a gourd. Pumpkin to eat comes from a can.

We have divorced the meaning of the food pumpkin from the plant pumpkin. This divorce is a wider problem in our society : we forget what things are in our quest for convenience. I'm not saying that there is anything wrong with canned pumpkin. Having turned a gourd into food, I now have about half a gallon of pumpkin that I need to use, and the process took a long time. Next time I cook with pumpkin, I will probably get a can -- after I use what's left of this pumpkin, of course. However, we rarely consider what our food is. When was the last time you thought about the cow that gave you your milk? The plant on which your coffee beans grew?

This approach to food might explain at least a part of America's health and obesity problems. The implications of the divorce of meaning go far beyond food, however. Most of the evils in the world can be traced back to this lack of understanding. Consider abortion. Our society can tolerate abortion because it denies the reality of what the unborn child is -- a child.

Other interpersonal evils -- the way we treat each other -- comes back to the same idea. We don't think about what our sexuality is; so we use each other. We pay no attention to our waste; so we destroy our planet. We don't think about who we are; so we accept less than what we deserve. I know it's pretty deep to go from a pumpkin, but all that was baked into the pie.

Day-Maker #13

I walked into the office this morning, having had both a birthday and a day off yesterday. My floor was covered with balloons, including a set that (when I put it together) read: "Happy birthday, Beth"! I also had a lovely card, signed by much of CCM and a glow-stick magic wand with a star on top. I'm thinking it's for board meetings.

A Gem from a Friend

Catherine, a friend who keeps a pro-life blog, posted a video that I want to share. The speaker, Stephanie Gray, offers her best argument for life.

[Note: That is my friend's real name. What? Why? If you click the link to go to her blog, as you should, you will discover her name anyway.]

Making the Case for Life: Pro-Life Apologetics from Mark Harrington on Vimeo.

Five Years in the Planning

Last weekend, Wendy came back into town for an event that we'd been planning with Julia for five years. Way back when the three of us were sophomores, we took a class on Greek Civilization with a friend from CCM. The four of us spent many evenings in our dorm room studying for tests. When we learned about symposiums -- where Greek men sat around drinking and talking about love -- we decided that this tradition should be continued, by the four of us. However, since we were all 20 at the time, it wasn't about to happen right then.

Now, five years later, Julia and I are back in the 'burg, Wendy's parents live here and she's not far away, and our friend is at a med school rotation generally in the area. Thus, we decided to carry out our symposium plans! We had a surprise guest, a mutual friend who comes back to the area that night.

Everyone pooled in with alcohol and food, and Wendy brought talking points. She also brought some old dress-up material for togas, much to the males' chagrin. Mine eventually ended up over my head more as a veil than a toga. We ended up with a very good conversation about many things related to love and dating: marriage, soul-mates, filios vs eros, etc. We offered a variety of perspectives and ended up talking later into the night than we expected.

And You Are Christ's: The Charism of Virginity and the Celibate Life, Thomas Dubay, S.M.

More of an Idiot: And You Are Christ's: The Charism of Virginity and the Celibate Life, Thomas Dubay, S.M.: "I borrowed this book from a friend who is reading it as prep for a retreat. The sub-title really tells it all. Fr. Dubay writes about people who dedicate their lives to Christ as celibates. He explains it in terms of love, self-gift, and prayer, and contrasts this approach to ideas of freedom for service. He offers the idea that virginity for Christ is a radical, rich, and loving. The virgin remains single because she is completely given to God, totally in love with Him, and can't imagine anyone else as the focus of her life. He of course goes into detail and pulls on Scripture and the saints, but that is the long and short.

I enjoyed the book, but I think that's mostly because of where I am in life right now. It's an accessible read and insightful, however, if you are interested in the topic."

And the Green Grass Grows All Around

As I mentioned in my previous post, Percy picked me up in Richmond after I spent the morning sidewalk counseling. We went from Richmond to Lawrenceville, which is essentially in the middle of nowhere. One of Percy's friends from YouthWorks (a program for which Percy and I have both worked) is on a clogging team, and they were performing at a college there.

After a lovely ride to the soundtrack of bluegrass Disney (imagine "Circle of Life" meets "Let the Circle Be Unbroken," with a lot of banjo), we arrived in Lawrenceville a good hour before Percy's friend. So he and I explored the town. All of it, on foot, in one hour.

The first shop we walked into promised "Something for everyone." I spent most of my time in the store thinking how wrong that promise was. The entire store filled two large rooms -- and by filled, I mean that every inch of the two rooms was covered with stuff. It was all second-hand, and normally I am a fan of thrift shopping. But the chaos of the organization (again, just piles), combined with the obvious age of some products (metal tubes of toothpaste? TVs that are older than me!), added to the... eclectic taste in product (large plastic lobsters, a massage machine that looked like a space ship, furry car seat-covers...) made me hesitant to touch anything. Percy and I spent quite a while wandering, gawking, laughing...

And then I found what was for me. In the midst of the chaos, I pointed at a picture and cried: "I found Jesus!" And He was there... also, there was a picture of Him.

When we were leaving the store, something else happened to make me a fan of this store. The owner stepped out to talk to us. Addressing Percy, he handed him a flyer and said, "Next time you come back, your wife will say that you should go to..." And he looked at me to finish the sentence. So apparently Percy and I are married. Um. Yeah....

We wandered around into a second-hand boutique and an apple festival that was more of a yard sale. Then we met up with Percy's friend and his fiancee for lunch, where Percy and I were again told that we were a couple. After this incident, he started telling everyone about his male roommates.

We left the restaurant and Percy's friend pulled a ukulele from his trunk, and an Irish whistle. They proceeded to play the instruments on the street while singing and dancing, until a lady came out of a store to ask if this was a preview for the show tonight. Delighted, Percy's friend said yes.

We walked the town again with Percy's friend and his fiancee. Percy and I had seen a sign for an estate sale, but I had very strong feelings about not going to it. However, when the third person of the day told me that we should go to the estate sale, I decided that it was a sign from God and we wandered over. An old building was set up very nicely as a house. Except for the random stuffed (i.e. taxidermied) bird on a stick, it wasn't morbid, and we had a good time window shopping. Percy even found a kitchen table to bring home.

We decided to bring his car back to see if the table would fit. The woman working the sale gave four random strangers her home and cell phone numbers in case she wasn't there when we got back. She told Percy that he could even take it home and send her a check in the mail. I couldn't believe the amount of trust that still exists in some parts of the world.

Luckily, after much maneuvering, we managed to fit a kitchen table and four chairs into the back of Percy's car. We left the estate sale and finally got down to the business of watching clogging.

In case you (like me until very recently) have no idea what clogging is, think contra dancing (square dancing + ballroom) meets tap dancing, and you are very close. The Celtibillies (exactly what they sound like) played, and the Green Grass Cloggers and a group of Irish dancers danced, and good times were had by all. I was highly impressed and had a blast -- plus, we had been through the town so many times that day that townspeople greeted us like friends.

After the show, Percy and I hopped back into his car and his friend and the fiancee followed us back to the 'burg. Coming from the middle of nowhere, we took mostly back roads on the venture and ended up coming at town from a new direction. The road and stars were gorgeous and I was surprised by the fact that it worked and we made it back! Sometimes, I'm just a little too much of a skeptic.

Richmond Medical Center for Women

I am playing catch-up -- it seems to be a recent pattern on this blog. I have two important stories from last Saturday that are now more than a week old.

I started Saturday with a road trip to Richmond. The Students for Life (SFL) group on campus goes to the Richmond Medical Center for Women once a month as sidewalk counselors. While I have been to pray outside of a growing handful of abortion facilities, I had never gone for the explicit purpose of sidewalk counseling. The three of us on this venture came armed with pictures of children in utero, information about the local pregnancy resource center, hand-written cards from people in SFL, and brochures on Rachel's Vineyard.

When we got to the yellow brick building, we found two women from a local church already there, each carrying a bag of information similar to ours. Their church sends someone to the facility every Saturday. They told us their basic strategy as I fingered my rosary inside my hoodie pocket. Because we can't enter the parking lot, they called to people as they got out of their cars and headed to the door, asking if they would like prayer or some information.

I spent most of our three hours there watching, running my fingers in circles in my pocket. A couple people took our information, but no one came to talk to us, and no one came to pray with us. One girl, visibly pregnant, left the same way -- and her mother looked so much happier on their way out! One man looked like he wanted to come talk to us, but the woman with him led their girl angrily into the building. So many human dramas happened in the cars as they pulled passed us, in the parking lot as we called to them, in the yellow brick building as we lost sight of them.

Just as the air of the CCM Chapel hangs heavy and thick like incense, made beautiful by the prayers of the past, so the air around the Richmond Medical Center for Women shivers with the knowledge of the nearby death, made sacred by the sorrows of the women who enter and leave each day. It's hard to explain the air around a place like that, but every abortion facility at which I have prayed has felt that way. Even Percy, who picked me up from Richmond and only stood on the sidewalk with us for a few minutes, felt it.

Whatever "it" is, it makes me aware that right there, no more than 50 yards from where I stand, is where people die. It impresses upon me the immediacy of this need. Sometimes, I can be content with the idea of "changing the hearts and minds of the people," and taking a long view of the change that needs to happen in our society. Not when I stand on the sidewalk, watching women and girls enter a building where a man will kill their children.

I know there is much work that must be done to have a society free of this evil. We must fight the battle on all fronts -- working at home to change hearts and minds, working in political process to affect laws, working in resource centers to provide help -- and standing on the sidewalk, praying for the women who bring their fears to that yellow brick building.

Part II, Take II

One of my friends said what I was trying to say, in different words and with her own stories:

http://lauraebuchanan.blogspot.com/2010/11/fear-and-sorrow.html

Day-Maker #12

A three-way Skype video chat with Ana and Percy. Partially because I am living in the future, partially because I was Skyping with someone who lives less than 5 minutes away, and mostly because they are two amazing people.

Halloween Joy

In the past 5 years, I have come up with approximately 0 Halloween costumes on my own. As the CCM Halloween Party approached, I was getting nervous -- I had to live up to three years of awesome costumes. The awesomeness, however, had been generated by the awesome roommates of my past years.

As I struggled to come up with any idea, I got a message from Wendy. As I mentioned when I posted about Homecoming, Wendy could not make it down for that weekend. So instead, she was coming to the 'burg for Halloween! She already had a costume idea : Love-birds!

Sunday afternoon, she brought felt and feathers and googley eyes to my house, and we created the costumes from red and pink hoodies. Using glue, thread, and safety pins, we covered our hoodies with hearts and feathers. Wendy sewed beaks to go on the hoods, and we placed eyes behind the beaks. We completed the ensemble with feather boas in pink and white.

We came together to the Halloween Party, where we met, among other wonderful characters, Steve from Blue's Clues (he led the entire room in song), the Catholic Spice Man (modeled after the Old Spice commercials), and three Sarahs who formed a Tri-Sarah-Tops. Much to our joy, Wendy and I won Cutest Couple in the costume contest, continuing my winning streak!

xkcd: Mu

I don't have an insightful commentary for this comic. It's just fun!

Keep Fear Alive!

I went home to my parents last Friday, in pursuit of a shirt I'd left in the laundry and some time with my parents away from Williamsburg. Since my time in the area coincided with Stephen Colbert's March to Keep Fear Alive (sorry, that's the bit I loved; I'm not so much about the Jon Stewart side of things), I had no excuse not to attend an event that I wanted to attend.

Here's the thing though: I didn't really plan ahead on, um, anything regarding this trip. I knew it started at noon. On the Mall. I knew it takes me 20 minutes to get to the Metro and less than an hour from there into the city. I knew I didn't care if I was at the back of the crowd, and I didn't care if I was a tad bit late. So I left home at 10:30.

Fail plan. Traffic was backed up three miles before the exit for the Metro, based on the light cycles off the exit. Just to give you an idea of how crowded it was. The line to purchase farecards stretched through the station, across the bridge, into the parking deck, outside into the sunlight. The standing room in my Metro car was filled by the time we left the second station. I didn't make it into the city until 1:30. I spent 3 hours on a journey that should not take more than 1.5 hours.

When I got into the city, I followed streams of people coming in just as late as I was, held up by the same traffic. I walked around, looking at snarky signs and hilarious costumes... and offensive signs and offensive costumes. I pushed my way through a variety of crowds, attempting to find a friend whom I was supposed to meet. Text and phone calls wouldn't go through. Eventually I gave up and wandered the outskirts, catching bits and pieces of the rally speeches and music as I walked past speakers. So I enjoyed the "Legalize Pot" signs and the anti-Christine O'Donnell and the people dressed as Jesus and bears and holding fake tea parties. Then I caught the Metro at Capitol South, a few stops ahead of where the masses of ralliers got on, and headed south again.

At one point, I hopped off the change lines, and a man waiting for the same train asked if I'd been to the rally. Which set the stage for a conversation with him all the way home. It was a very random conversation, and a little awkward as he mentioned failed Match.com dates and glanced at my hand (I wear a ring on my left ring finger; I think it helped me out here). However, the overall impression I got was that he's rather lonely. He was glad to find someone else who went to the rally alone, and I hope our conversation brightened his day a little. It made me laugh, which always brightens my day.

Part II

I've changed my mind. There is no part II. Stay tuned for posts about the Colbert/Stewart rally, Halloween, and other tidbits of my life.

Day-Maker #11

To break up some of the heavy stuff...

About 60 seconds after Percy and I parted ways at midnight last night, he called me, asking if I like doughnuts. Two minutes later, he showed up on my doorstep with doughnuts tied to strings, apparently part of his payment for a juggling gig. Also, part of my breakfast this morning.

Part I

I have a lot of catching up to do on here, and we'll see how it goes. I like to do things in chronological order, so that means it'll take a few posts before I catch up to the present for occasions such as the Colbert/Stewart rally and Halloween. However, the things on my mind that will come out are not exactly cheery topics.

A couple weeks ago, a student at the College took her own life. It is a tragedy that shook the College. As John Donne wrote,

No man is an island,

Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,

A part of the main....

Each man's death diminishes me,

For I am involved in mankind.

It is even more true that we are a part of each other, when, as I recently wrote, the College has such a strong community. We are united as more than humanity; we are united as the College.

I want to go two places with this, so please indulge me in two less-than-happy posts.

I first found out about the tragedy from a friends G-Chat status, reading, "Take care of one another, Tribe," followed by a link to the article in the local newspaper. In subsequent discussions, the idea came up that we as a society have forgotten how to take care of each other.

I run some mornings, and a few days ago as I was running I saw a plastic bag blowing across a yard. I thought about picking it up, decided that I didn't want to run across a neighbor's (wet) grass, and went on. For a few more steps. Then I changed my mind. I decided that I wanted to be That Girl, and I often am not. I wanted to be That Girl who picks up plastic bags blowing across yards. Who smiles at strangers. Who makes overworked cashiers laugh, or at least breath a little more easily. Who sees the beauty in others and speaks it to their faces. And thinking about being That Girl does not make me her. It makes me someone who thinks about being her.

How many people go through life considering being That Girl or That Guy? Seeing people who maybe could use one extra smile, one extra hug, one extra kind word... and don't want to step on a neighbor's lawn. And yet, the prospect of making the world a better place should motivate us to take that extra step. After all, we all do have a responsibility for each other. This idea is obscured by our society's views of independence and, I think, promoted by our over-commitment to tolerance, which too often translates into "leave other people alone."

When we "leave other people alone," however, we... well, we do just that. When we remove ourselves from other people's lives and problems, we step back from where they need us most. Of course, not everyone needs every other person poking his or her nose everywhere. However, we all need shoulders on which to lean, ears which will listen, hearts onto which we can unburden ourselves. After all, who wants to be left alone to face the world? I, for one, could not take it on alone.

In the wake of the recent suicide, I have heard a lot of talk about how we need to take care of each other. The first step is to realize that we can't just "leave other people alone." We need others. Life without people who care, both best friends and random strangers, is empty.

Final note: I want to echo the words of Monsignor, who said Mass the Sunday after. He emphasized that if you are feeling trapped, lost, backed into a corner, do not give up. Do not despair. There is always, always someone there for you. If that means calling me at any moment, do not hesitate. If that means being in touch with someone better able to help you than I, do not hesitate. Here is a place to start: http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/ (1-800-273-TALK (8255)).

Day-Maker #10

The speed limit on I-295 around Richmond is now 70mph. I can go fast.

Day-Maker #9

The Hospitality (read: large meals and parties) Board Member and I went to Trader Joe's to pick out pumpkins for the Halloween party. Picture two small girls moving digging around in large boxes of pumpkins, searching for 8 of the perfect shape and size. We found them.

Day-Maker #8

Sitting at the coffee shop on campus with two men in Roman collars.

Brick Fail

Getting Mondays off is conducive to cleaning house and running errands; not so much to a social life. Except that Percy teaches night classes, so having Mondays off is conducive to late morning and early afternoon adventures with him.

Earlier in the year, we discovered that the brickyard in CW has helpers : tourists who decide that a part of their ideal vacation includes stomping around in mud. I'm not sure that would be part of my ideal vacation, but it certainly makes the 'burg a cooler place to live. Percy and I decided to spend a Monday churning clay into mud with our bare feet for the purpose of creating bricks.

On our first foray into brickland, the nice lady in the hoop skirt and bonnet told us that they had just fired up the kiln, and it was too hot for anyone to go near the brickyard. She advised us to come back after September 20th. (I have discovered that the nice people who work there are very good at telling people to come back for things.) So this past Monday, Percy and I came back.

When we walked into the brickyard, I saw the two pits that were obviously used for mud stomping. And these two pits were obviously dry. As the friendly brickmaker told the crowd (which consisted of two families with small children, plus the pair of us) they were done with the brickmaking until the summer. Now they just had a stack of bricks waiting to fire.

So Percy and I learned about bricks and brickmaking and the bricks that the friendly brickmaker is making for Mr. Jefferson's school up the road. And planned our next trip to the brickmakers -- next summer. Unless I decide to go back for the firing of the kiln on December 8.

Alma Mater Hail

When Julia, Wendy, and I were freshmen, we took the bus to Target on homecoming weekend. As we came back, we saw the crowds of alumni of various ages spreading from the Alumni House and stadium into the wider world of campus. Ever since that day, I have looked forward to the day when Wendy and Julia and I would reunite at Homecoming.

I never expected that, for my first Homecoming, both Julia and I would be living here. Unfortunately, Wendy could not make it down, so I have to wait at least another year for visions to come true.

Homecoming #1 went down with no Wendy, but I did manage to have an amazing time. I had Benjamin and Annie (no, loyal readers, you have not met her yet; but she will reappear) under my roof, so I had no lack of good friends... not even counting the people, such as one of my favorite apartmentmates, with whom I spent several wonderful hours on Saturday.

Friday night I devoted to friends from freshmen year; Saturday I spent more with CCM alumni. I think that since I live here, I had a different experience of Homecoming. Lots of awesome people were coming home to me, but I wasn't going anywhere. My normal social lines were suddenly redrawn and my spheres redivided.

And then Sunday, the people whom I knew and loved and wanted more time with started to trickle out, until dark and early Monday morning, I drove Benjamin to the airport and my normal life began again.

These Things Will Change

One common question I've received about my volunteer year is: "How have you changed?"

Because I process things slowly, and self-change is often difficult to measure, most of the time I stumble and bumble my way around that question. The other day, however, I discovered one answer : I look over my shoulder more often.

Ours is a safe campus, and, during my time here, I didn't hesitate to walk across campus at 9 or 10 at night. Once the clock hit 11 or 12 or later, I would hesitate, but I would also walk a mile from CCM to my apartment before calling Campus Escort. Not the wisest choice, and certainly not what they tell you during Freshmen Orientation, but the only 2 times I've felt uncomfortable by random people on campus at night, I've been in a group.

From safe campus to St. Louis I go, where I hesitated to walk out to my car late at night. (That was probably just paranoia. Our neighborhood was generally safe.) Some neighborhoods were off limits at night; some streets were off limits during the day. I became much more aware of the people on the streets around me. At sundown, I felt unsafe standing outside our school.

Back on campus, I found myself with half an hour to kill before an event that started at 8pm. During my time as a student, I would not have considered it late. It would not have occurred to me to be vigilant during my walk. It wasn't even eight at night! Yet I found myself wondering if I should be walking alone, if this was safe.

When I became aware of these thoughts, I had two reactions : 1) Beth, you are being ridiculous! and 2) But it's true! This person walking towards you could be anyone!

I processed the second reaction. Yes, she could be anyone. However, I would assume that she was a part of the College community, which makes her part of "us" rather than "them." Especially if I am a student, she is "us," not "them." And being part of one community means that we are, to some extent or another, invested in each other. Which mean that, unlike on the streets of St. Louis, on the paths of the College, I don't encounter just anyone. And they (for many reasons) are safer.

Please note : I am well aware that the College is no magical place where bad things don't happen. I am well aware that anyone can walk on the campus, not just members of the College community, and that not all members are committed to the common good, or others' individual goods. Still, I am also aware that the campus is much safer than where I was last year.

Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy

More of an Idiot: Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy: "In case you are wondering if I've fallen off the planet for the past month... No, I have not. I've been working my way through one thousand pages of Anna Karenina. I expected it to be difficult, but I found it much less dense than expected, very engaging, and maybe a new favorite. Apparently I had the 'wrong' translation; I found the translation very accessible, but apparently the best one has purple flowers on the front cover.

The novel opens with an glimpse in the house of Stepan Oblonsky and his wife, Dolly, the morning after she has discovered that he was having an affair. These two characters serve to connect the other main couples: Oblonsky's sister, Anna Karenina, and AlexeyVronsky, who is not her husband; and Dolly's sister, Kitty Scherbatsky, and her suitor, Konstantin Levin. These four are the "main" characters, but the novel sweeps through a diverse cast of Russian nobility of the late 1800s.

The novel encompasses at least as many themes as characters, but both themes and characters kept me turning page after page, as Anna reacts to Vronsky as he seduces her; as Anna interacts with her husband as Vronsky seduces her; as Anna raises her son as Vronsky seduces her. They kept me turning pages as Kitty and Levin's relationship grows and blossoms. Passion and love, fidelity and honesty, personal and social responsibility, faith and religion all have their respective places in this novel, along with vast social commentaries on Russian noble and agricultural life at the time.

Two years ago, I wouldn't have made it through the entire novel, but I would have missed out. I highly recommend Anna Karenina to anyone who loves reading... in spite of my sub-par post to describe it."

Day-Maker #7

Before I made my bed, the comforter and blanket were shoved towards the middle of the bed. Grace Kelly hopped up to investigate, poking her head deeper under the covers until eventually all of her was hidden. She made herself a cave and hid there until I finally had to make my bed and start my day.

The Stuff of Legends

After being gone all weekend for retreat formation, I took a few days to visit Mr. Jefferson's school up the road. I have a cousin who did his undergrad there and is now in his third year of law school, so I had a couch with my name. My mother also got her bachelor's from this school, three of my siblings applied there, and, in general, it's a big deal in my part of the world. And yet, somehow, I had never before set foot on its campus. Or the Grounds, as they call it.

I received a quick drive-through of the town, a briskly paced walking tour of campus (my cousin averages the same walking speed that I do), and an introduction to the group of Catholic law students on campus.

Sometimes I go to places and I don't understand. I don't understand what the big deal is, what the people who love it find so compelling. At Mr. Jefferson's school, I got it. I understand why people love that school and why it forms students into the people who come out of that school.

I decided that if I ever become a professor, I want to teach there and live along the Lawn. In Mr. Jefferson's first idea, the students and professors all lived along the Lawn. Students have little rooms and professors have larger "Pavilions." Classes took place in the professors' homes. While I am certain that I chose the right school for me, I love that original plan and I like the idea of living in community with students, so that the university is centered around a strong academic community.

As an end/side note:

I also decided that I really do like law students. Every time I meet them, I tend to think they are awesome people and want to be their friends, and I met so many this weekend, that I decided as a general rule, law students are cool. I don't want to be one however, so I will content myself with being their friend, roommate, and family.

The Face of the Planet

In case my loyal readers are wondering if I have fallen off the face of the planet, the short answer is, yes. I have. This past weekend, I fell off the face of the planet into the mountains. I had retreat formation to prepare student teams for diocesan-wide retreats next semester. I went on my first retreat when I was a freshman and teamed each subsequent year until I graduated, so these retreats are very near and dear to my hearts.

I could use this post to describe my love of the mountains, but I'm afraid that my effusions, while bringing me joy, would not make an arresting read. I could use this post to describe the strangeness of going back as an "adult" to a place that had been mine as a "student" and still felt as though it should belong to me. But I think that sentence sums it up fairly well.

So instead, I will share with you my experience of karma. Or perhaps God's humor.

For the past few weeks, whenever I have spoken with my youngest sister, she has described to me, in detail and with high emotion, the stink bugs on her campus. First, they were in her window. Then they were in her room. They looked gross and she couldn't ignore them. Now, I am the girl whom others call to rescue them from bugs. I am the girl who carries spiders outside rather than killing them. So I made a less-than-perfect audience for these woes.

Walking into my room in the campus minister's building, however, I discovered that I had more roommates than my human-sized one from another campus. They were small and brown and flew! I flushed a few before I decided that killing them was a losing battle. I'd ignore them, I thought, and sleep.

Wrong. I couldn't get to sleep and the bugs kept crawling or flying onto my roommate, making her jump or scream. It was a long night... and I thought of my sister the whole time, with a lot more sympathy.

Latin!

Last night, in his weekly Catholicism seminars, Father Dude spoke about the new translation of the Roman Missal. For all questions you have now or after reading this post, I refer you to USCCB's page on the new translation. I have found it very user-friendly.

Being a classics nerd, I find the new translation very exciting, and of course it will change the way the Mass sounds. Still, technically, the Mass is the same. In a nutshell: when Vatican II happened the Missal was re-written, i.e. we had a "new Mass." This new Mass was written in -- guess what? -- Latin! Different bodies of Church officials then translated this Latin Mass into their respective vernaculars. These translations received Vatican approval and became the commonly celebrated Mass.

Recently, however, English-speaking bishops have gone back to the original Latin that came out of Vatican II and re-translated it into English. They ended up with a translation that resembles the Latin more closely than what we use now.

After explaining to us about Missals and translations and the history of our current translation, Father Dude handed out excerpts from the new translation, including a few prayers with the original Latin, the current translation, and the new translation side-by-side.

I'm 93% certain the people sitting near me thought something was seriously wrong with me when I started reading the three-part handout. Seeing the Latin next to the English made me realize just how much of the beauty of the language of the Mass we are missing right now. We lost so much in translation and I am so excited to get it back.

Here, for example, are a few lines:

Latin: Populo tuo, quaesumus, Domine,

adesto propitius,

et,quem mysteriis caelestibus imbuisti,

fac ad novitatem vitae

de vetustate transire.

Per Christum.

Current: Merciful Father, may these mysteries give us new purpose

and bring us to a new life in you.

Grant this through Christ our Lord.

New text: Graciously be present to your people,

we pray, O Lord,

and lead those you have nourished

with heavenly mysteries

to pass to a new way of life from the old.

Through Christ our Lord.

Can you see and hear and feel the difference? I am very much a language-oriented person, and, seeing the Latin and the new translation, I have to admit that I feel rather cheated by having the current translation. I realize that the Mass is holy and valid as it is right now, and that the Eucharist is the Eucharist and all the prayers, no matter the language or translation, are the unworthy expression of the great Mystery that makes up our faith. But I process and filter most of my existence through language and words mean a lot to me. And to me, the difference in translation is the difference between a cheap reproduction and the real work of art. I see the same image in both, but one is so much more clear and beautiful.

Apparently there is much outcry about this new translation, because it changes a lot of the people's responses during Mass. Which affects not only what we say, but also what we sing, giving musicians a special task and challenge starting very soon. I sympathize with musicians, but I don't have the gut reaction against change that many others exhibit. Instead, I find myself eagerly awaiting November 27, 2011.

Day-Maker #6

I went to get my car inspected earlier this week. In spite of the fact that the mechanic who performed the inspection was much taller than I am and had to move the seat to get into the car, I found the driver's seat exactly where I left it.

The Least of These

Remember that time where I loved Stephen Colbert? Yeah, that time that started when my capstone Sociology research was all about him and Jon Stewart. I don't have celebrity crushes or idols, but he comes pretty close. I've written before about his humor and his defense of the Catholic faith, and, while I don't know his views on everything the Church teaches, I've come to think of him as fairly stalwart, despite his satire. Satire (this was the contention of my final sociology presentation) allows him to say things that he otherwise would not be allowed to say, express views through layers of subtext that could not be expressed without that protection. Because he spews the serious and the farcical in the same breath, he can get away with much more than the mainstream media. This theory applies to much more than religion; he calls out so many people and institutions for foibles and major flaws; I tend to view him as genuine in spite of his satire.

What happens when he has to be serious? When, for example, he is asked to testify before Congress? For those of you who don't know, Colbert agreed a few months ago to work as a farm laborer with migrant workers. Recently, he fulfilled this promise in two episodes (one and two). As a result of his fame and his one day on the farm, Congresswoman Zoe Lofgren (D. CA) asked him to speak to a House subcommittee about immigration reform.

First, Colbert is never (in public, that I have come across) completely serious and is always to a greater or lesser degree in character. However, he shed his character during his testimony before Congress to the greatest degree I've ever seen. And he left the character even further behind when answering the questions of the Congress people.

My favorite moment, as I watched on the Washington Post's website, came around 8min 55sec. One Congress woman asks him a question that he obviously does not expect and has to think about how he wants to answer. Watch the interview, at least the last few seconds of it, and listen to his response. And then you'll see why I am so much in love with this man.

Forgiveness and the Eucharist

I hold up the bread. "The Body of Christ," I say. I look into the communicant's eyes and smile. And repeat, seventy-five times.

The campus minister from a school down the road insists upon the use of those four words. Not, "This is the Body of Christ," not "Mary, the Body of Christ," not "Behold, the Body of Christ," or any such variations. When you say, "The Body of Christ," she explains, you are declaring that this bread is the Body of Christ, but also that this communicant is the Body of Christ, that you are the Body of Christ, that this gathered Church is the Body of Christ. So when I act as a Eucharistic Minister (or Extraordinary Minister of Holy Communion, as I have learned is the "proper" title), I use those four words, and I acknowledge Christ in all the incarnations of the Eucharist.

I distribute the Eucharist pretty consistently every Sunday, and normally it's a straightforward process. The Eucharist amazes and awes me, but even the most sacred events can be calm with familiarity. But, every now and again, I have moments like this past Sunday.

I was upset with someone last week. Not in a huge, affecting-my-life kind of way, but definitely not at peace with this person. I found my position to distribute the Host, and suddenly I realized that said person was walking towards the altar -- towards me. I wasn't in a place where I could look at that person, smile, and say, "The Body of Christ," recognizing God in that person, in me, and in the gathered community of which we were both a part.

There was the possibility of handing this person the Host, with the proper words, but letting the smile slip away and not letting our eyes meet. It wouldn't disrupt the Mass, and, truth be told, this person might not even notice. But I couldn't do that. It might not disrupt the Mass, but it would disrupt my heart and, let's be honest (if slightly hokey-sounding), Jesus would notice.

So, in a swift twisting of the heart that can only be attributed to God at work in me, I forgave. I saw it as completely necessary, and so, through grace, it happened. I do not normally forgive that quickly or that spontaneously; this truly was the work of God in me.

However, it got me thinking. I could forgive this someone for an act that upset me a little bit. But there are some people in the world whom I have not forgiven for longer periods of time. People to whom I could not say, "The Body of Christ" and smile and acknowledge Christ in them and in me and recognize their divinity and our unity in Christ. These people are not likely to turn up in my communion line (or at the Sign of Peace, another time when it's hard to hold grudges), but what if they did? What would I do? And how can I work now on forgiving them? After all, this dilemma reflects a problem within my own heart, one that I need to start fixing.

In Which a Cat Is in a Tree

I think I gave away most of the story in the title. After coming home on Sunday, I got a call from a good friend and recent alum, who was visiting the 'burg this weekend, wanting to see me. When he and his girlfriend arrived, I opened the door to greet them... and Grace Kelly left the house.

She's done it a couple times before, and she rolls around on the concrete at the end of the sidewalk, and I walk out and glare at her and pick her up and bring her back in. Apparently, she's done this for Cara too, and now has gotten smart about it. Kind of. She ran behind our house to the common lawn. I followed slowly, since I was barefoot. And then she scrambled up a thin holly tree... leaving me on the ground staring up at her a good 7 feet in the air. My friends joined me, and we watched Grace Kelly try to figure out what to do from there. She wasn't too happy with the tiny branches that were the only things that supported her... but she wasn't quite ready to climb down.

I don't know who took more persuading: Grace Kelly, or the tall male in the group. But eventually, he managed to grab her and drag her out of the tree. I carried her into the house, where she promptly proceeded to try to sneak out every time the door opened.

"We Permeate Awesomeness"

This weekend, I represented my school at the annual Diocesan campus ministry leadership workshop. Various student leaders from various schools throughout the state get together, along with campus ministers from the same schools. Unfortunately, the one student who was going to go on the retreat couldn't make it at the last minute... so that left only one me.

Fun life-fact: I called Ana from the ferry because I was making the drive alone, and I am used to fun people on the ferry with me. Apparently I called her just as she needed directions to a St. Louis coffee shop that we loved. God sometimes has easily identifiable awesome timing.

As for the retreat itself, God was there too. Most of the student leaders had fun exchanging ideas with and just getting to know students from other schools. The relationships were, in my humble YACM opinion, the most important part of the whole weekend. Oh, and the s'mores were a very important part of the weekend as well.

For me... well, two other YACMs came along as team. First of all, I like being in the company of awesome people such as these two YACMs; secondly, I took comfort in spending time with people who do the same thing that I do. YACM is a strange, liminal position. One which I love, to be sure, but a strange, liminal position nonetheless, and there is a camaraderie created by that fact.

And, the event I've been anticipating for weeks, I got to tag-team a talk with one of my favorite male-folk. He was the assistant coordinator to my coordinator on a retreat two years ago, and our awesome team has remained awesome. And, as he pointed out, our talk would be great, because "we permeate awesomeness." Granted, I didn't expect one of the campus ministers to tease us all weekend about being a couple, so that my talk partner introduced us by saying, "We're going to be married in one month." But that got the talk off to such a dynamic start and gave us and our audience the momentum to stay awake, alive, and animated during the Sunday morning slump.

Day-Maker #5

I walked up to Wawa today to get a fruit for my dinner. Since I was talking to my dad on the phone, I waved a lady in front of me in line. She paid for my banana! Thank you, Wawa stranger!

Day-Maker #4

I collect "After-Event Reports" from CCM Board members (student leaders). I make a photocopy and hand the form back to the board member. For my own organization, I put a check mark on the corner of the page after I have made the copy. For second weeks in a row, different board members have asked why they didn't get check-pluses.

I Think I'll Move to Australia

Remember that book? Well, on Monday, I had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. I generally have Mondays off, but since we were hosting a dinner to say thank you to all the students who do the hard work for CCM, I swapped my day off.

Coming in on one's day off never gets things started right. The main difficulty of my day was getting t-shirts for our CCMers. I had been in communication with a screen printing company for nearly two weeks. And by "been in communication with," I mean, I had been repeatedly calling them, because the sales person with whom I was working was far from on top of her game. On Friday, she had called and asked if we absolutely needed them by Monday. Monday at 11am, I finally received the proof for the t-shirts that we wanted that day.

The whole day was a back-and-forthing nightmare of logistics and minor panic. And of course, when you are hosting a dinner, you have more logistics to worry about than the t-shirts you had been told it would be "no problem" to receive in time for your event. Our communication culminated when the sales person asked me (and I do not exaggerate here) if we could meet an employee by the side of the highway to pick up the t-shirts.

After we agreed on a 7-11, I breathed in relief over the idea that I would never have to speak to this woman again. We got the t-shirts to CCM barely in time to start handing them out. And then Miriam asked Marianne if all the t-shirts had a double r in "Mary." In fact, they did. In fact, the t-shirt company, which did such excellent business with the College, had spelled our name incorrectly.

That was the final straw on a stressful encounter. And I knew that tomorrow, I was going to have to call the t-shirt company and speak to my favorite sales person again.

Thus was my mental state when I arrived home. Then I pulled open the talk for a retreat this weekend. I had been working on the talk while waiting for my favorite sales person to call back all day. In it, I relived some of my most terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days from last year. Last year, my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days came on days when my students got into fights, ran wild against teachers, came to school with bruises, bullied each other, or revealed horrifying home situations. My terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days were ones on which I came home crying to or yelling at God.

Comparatively, this day was not that bad. All I needed was a little perspective on it. If my problem is with an order of 70 t-shirts to give as gifts, how blessed am I? I wish my perspective had come in time to brighten my day. I wish it had come in time to help me smile better at the Board members who came to set up for the dinner. I wish it had come in time to keep me from snapping at the Bloom-Lion cashier. But now that I have it, it gives me something to keep in mind in the future. When my biggest problems are with t-shirts, life is good.

On a Boat

Saturday I had a rare treat -- a Saturday off! While I have gotten Mondays reliably off from work and have taken some other weekdays off to compensate for weekends on the job, this weekend marked my first occasion since school started on which I have had a Saturday free. Friday afternoon, when I was feeling excited and slightly lost about this concept, I got a text from Percy, inviting me out on the Chickahominy with his family.

Papa Percy is known for being able to get anyone up on skis, so I drove up to the river both excited and apprehensive. I have always wanted to be able to waterski, but am very self-conscious about any sort of activity that displays me... and being dragged behind a boat, while all its occupants watch, certainly does that. When I arrived at the river, I found not only Papa and Mama Percy, but also a friend that I hadn't seen since graduation.

She and Percy took the first turns showing off behind the boat. Then, all of a sudden, I elected as the next run behind the boat. Percy and his father gave me instructions about how to hold myself in the water and how to let the boat pull me. They handed me a life vest that was too large, but which I managed to make fit well enough. I sat on the ski platform, putting the skis on my feet, then slipped into the cold water.

The first go or two, Papa Percy just dragged me a little, so that I could "get used to the force." I had a couple fail attempts where I felt myself rise up out of the water, only to tip back forwards or backwards and tangle myself and my skis back into the water.

I fell enough times, but then, sooner than I expected, came the moment when I managed to counter-tip the tipping and hold my balance and then I was up on top of the water, flying behind the boat. Mama Percy had explained that there was no trick to skiing -- it was all just balance. And I felt that -- I felt the way the water moved under my skis and the minute shifts that kept me balanced on top of it. I have few physical graces, but I do have a good sense of balance, and I loved engaging it, especially on top of the water, where I am home and alive and joyful as I am in very few other places. The motion felt familiar, though I could not place it.

After a few runs, I realized what the familiarity was. In a strange way, waterskiing reminded me of dancing. Dancing with a strong lead. If I didn't concentrate on what I was doing, and didn't look at my feet, and focused my eyes on another point and my body on the music (I was singing as I skied. Percy laughed at me for it.), then it was the most natural motion in the world. Well, skiing was easier than dancing, because my balance is much better than my rhythm.

That is the story of the time I learned how to ski. But that is not the only boat story. Percy's family's boat is fully equipped with waterskis of various shapes and sizes, wake boards, and a wake surf board. Wake surfing is a new sport. You balance on a surf board, being dragged behind the boat. Then, when you find the right part of the wake, you toss the rope back to the boat and the wake carries you at speed with the boat. So you glide along without being dragged.

Percy can wake surf. He can also juggle. As far as I know, he is the only person in the world who would consider doing both. At the same time. He would only make it for brief stints of juggling on the surf board, but between the bright orange of the boat and the traffic cone colors of his juggling clubs, he made a pretty impressive sight. So impressive that at one point, a boater figured out what he was trying to do and kept pace with us as Percy got settled onto his board. The boater watched him juggle and, when he lost control, gave him a massive fist pump and jetted off.

Day-Maker #3

I went to Mass at the Poor Clare Monastery (where the cloistered nuns live) this morning. There was a sign in the restroom that read, "Please let toilet paper be the only paper product you put into the toilet. May God reward you." I hope God does reward me for my restroom habits.

One Body

This year marked the 5th annual Freshmen/New Student Retreat for CCM! My first year in college, we had no such thing, and my second year, several of my friends created the first one, which I had the privilege of teaming. So, along with Marianne, I have had the joy of seeing this retreat grow from the original brainchild several years ago to what it was last weekend.

Last weekend we took the largest group of new students in CCM history to the retreat center by the river. Our team had been forming since the end of last year and had come together into a cohesive, Christ-centered team. A close and focused team can do a lot to make a retreat, and I blame part of this one's success on just that. We had a variety of perspectives, spiritualities, and personalities -- one that served the new students' various perspectives, spiritualities, and personalities very well. This year also marked the first time we had a priest assigned to CCM and thus on the retreat for more than a closing Mass.

The retreat itself flowed smoothly. The class of '14 (plus the transfers I've met this year!) is pretty much amazing. And they love to sing. We sang more on this retreat than we had planned and people kept requesting more songs! It warmed my heart, especially because our music minister on the retreat has a gift for that type of music. Plus, he chose songs that have significance in my life, which made me enjoy them all the more.

Friday night we had a bonfire, and, as I walked out to the fire circle, I looked up and saw the Milky Way. On Freshmen Retreat #1, I spent a good chunk of campfire time looking up at the stars and talking philosophy with one boy. This time, I stood by the bonfire with a few team members as the participants headed inside for an epic game of telephone pictionary. Campfires make for good conversation, especially with amazing people. And we saw a few shooting stars.

The Small Rain, Madeline L'Engle

More of an Idiot: "The Small Rain, Madeline L'Engle
Of course I loved this novel. Madeline L'Engle wrote it. I have read most of her novels and I've yet to find one that I don't like. This particular novel tells the story of a girl growing up. L'Engle tends to write coming-of-age stories, and all of them are similar, yet each of them is unique. Katherine Forrester is only 8 or 9 at the beginning, and the story takes up about 10 years of her life. She is the daughter of musicians and is a pianist herself. Her story covers her broken but beautiful family life, her time at school, and her experiences with all kinds of love.

This story was a quick read, fun and tragic by turns. I especially enjoyed the ending, because L'Engle tends not to tidy up too much at the end of novels. I can't think of much to say about it, other than that I highly enjoyed it and have checked out the next novel in which the main character appears."