Optimism

Christian optimism is not a sugary optimism, nor is it a mere human confidence that everything will turn out alright. It is an optimism that sinks its roots into an awareness of our freedom, and the sure knowledge of the power of grace. It is an optimism that leads us to make demands on ourselves, to struggle to respond at every moment to God's call.

St. Josemaria Escriva

 

Goals for today:

1. Be optimistic. 

#ashtag

Don't worry, this post isn't a list of things you should give up for Lent. I have a hard enough time determining what I should give up for Lent, let alone making suggestions for you, too. And anyway, it's Ash Wednesday - hopefully you've figured all of that out by now. (If not, no judgement...we've all been there.)

My sincerest apologies to Blogdom for my long absence. Consistency isn't my greatest attribute, it's true; but hey, I'm working on it.

I have several posts on my dashboard that I've started and want to finish, but today I crashed my car into a fence. And since this blog is where I reflect on my life and God's presence in it, it seemed like an appropriate decision to put the other posts on hold in order to tell you the story of my ridiculously and unintentionally penitential start to Lent.

This morning I woke up and was on a Lenten roll. I successfully did not hit my snooze button, [consequently] had time to pray, remembered to fast, wrote a couple things on my gratitude board, AND got out the door on time. What! I hit a slight snag when I walked outside and saw that it was snowing freaking again again and I had to brush off my car, but I joked about it and went on my merry way. I was the freaking boss of Ash Wednesday so far.

Well, about 5 minutes into my drive, I hit a patch of snow on the ground and lost control of my car. First, my car swerved into the next lane and I almost collided head-on with an oncoming car. I guess I turned my wheel to compensate (? I don't really know what happened... it was all, "Jesus take the wheel!" up in there), and then I was spinning and all I could see was snow. The only thing I remember is yelling out, "Jesus please help me!" and then my car eventually slid to a stop right into a fence and right before a bunch of trees. I think I also hit a sign at some point.

After a couple seconds of shock, I realized that I had very narrowly missed ending up with the fence in my driver's side door. (I also realized that the fence was the fence around the cemetery where my grandmother is buried. It's been awhile since I've come there to pray, but I'm thinking there MUST be easier ways for her to get my attention.)

After calling my parents & all the necessary people (and taking a little bit of time to pray with my grandma, as long as I was unexpectedly there), eventually my parents and a nice man with a pick up helped dig and push me out.

I'm fine. My car is also fine, aside from being decently scratched up. My rockstar Guardian Angel deserves overtime pay, and I certainly feel like I was protected from what could have been a far greater catastrophe, for which I am super grateful. This was definitely not the penance I had in mind this morning to start off Lent, but all in all, aside from being traumatizing for me (I think my heart is still beating higher than normal), it really wasn't that big of a deal.

But nothing puts things into perspective like feeling as though you've narrowly been preserved from death, and my introvert-self has been reflecting on that today.

Sure, I was definitely beasting-it at Ash Wednesday and my Lent was off to a great start, but the more important thing is, to what end? If it's not to make space for Christ, then I'm wasting my time. It would be better, I think, for me to try to be faithful to even one little thing for the sake of growing closer to Christ, and even to fail at that, than to be trying and succeeding at many sacrifices this Lent but only for the sake of proving to myself how self-disciplined I am.

Listen, this isn't #trueconfessions; I'm not necessarily saying that I was focused on myself this morning. But I am saying that I feel like that's probably not a bad question for me and my conscience to deliberate every evening. Because after my over-dramatic self saw my life flash before my eyes for a brief couple of moments this morning, the phrase "remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return" made some very poignant sense to me as I got my ashes today.

The desire of my best-self is to be a saint. Most of the time, that desire pretty much remains just a desire, and though it hopefully influences my actions, I don't go to super great lengths to accomplish it. There are other desires I tend to pursue a little more actively, and sanctity begins to lose pride of place; it's just the human condition, you know? But the Church has given me 6 whole painful torturous beautiful weeks to play that particular desire out in concrete action, beginning with reminding me that I have an expiration date - and eventually my status as saint or not-saint will be a reality.

"Rend your hearts, not your garments, and return to the Lord, your God."
"Now is the acceptable time. Now is the day of salvation."

Happy Lent, peeps. #ashtag

Hurry Up and WAIT.

I know I've pretty much ignored this blog for the past month and a half, but you'll have to just let bygones be bygones because I have no good excuses. And also because ADVENT!

World, I am so. pumped. that it's Advent! I don't mean to sound like a weirdo... but seriously though - I love the seasons of the liturgical year. It's exciting to have more things to celebrate, and a new season also occasionally brings with it that kick in the pants that I need to actually change things in my life or focus on certain areas in my life that I've been meaning to get around to doing for, oh, I don't know, however many months it's been since the last change of seasons.

In the last few years, I've come to particularly love Advent. I love the theme of hope that permeates the whole season. It's a season of penance, but in a gentler and quieter way than Lent - which is sometimes the way my heart needs to receive it.

Also, I'm not very good at waiting (collective gasp of shock and awe from those who know me) and Advent is a whole 4-week season of the year that helps me learn how to do that.

Yes, World, it's true: patience is decidedly not my strongest virtue. (In my defense, it's really just a sub-virtue.)  But yet here it is, a whole season where we live palpably in the "already-not yet" tension that is the life of faith. Jesus came and He's here and we remember it, but also He's coming again and we're getting ready for it, and also He comes to us every day and we're trying to be always ready for it...

In other words, the Church is all like, "Hey, hurry up and WAIT."

...like I said, not my strongest virtue. However, at Mass this past Sunday the homily struck me. Well, the homily covered a lot of things, but the end of it particularly struck me. The priest ended by saying that this time of Advent is really up to us, because the Lord is always coming to us; so may we always find ourselves saying "Come, Lord Jesus!" at every moment of our lives.

Ok, so maybe that sounds a lot like any other Advent homily you've heard. But this year they got me. As I was reflecting on it,  I started by just asking myself whether or not I truly say "Come, Lord Jesus," at every moment. And then that annoying darn wonderful Holy Spirit started stirring in my heart a little bit and I started thinking not just about whether I say "Come, Lord Jesus" at every moment, but whether I am truly saying it in every aspect of my life.

What I mean to say is, What parts of my life am I not so keen on inviting Jesus into? Where am I not really willing to wait for Him?

Listen, I love the Baby Jesus and Christmas, and I want the Second Coming because Lord-have-mercy this world can get tiring, and I love the Eucharist and I want Jesus to come into my life daily with His grace and His glory and I want His presence with me at all times -- but, you know, there are those parts of my life where I'm pretty sure I have a good idea about what I want and how to achieve it. Come, Lord Jesus? If I'm honest, I think I'm more likely to be caught saying, "Nothing to see here, Lord Jesus!" And if I do manage to say "Come, Lord Jesus," I whisper it very quietly and add "Come, Lord Jesus... but like seriously, don't mess things up, ok?" or "Come, Lord Jesus... come help me with my plan. (And please do it like 5 minutes ago!)"

And I think that's where we end up anxious. Or at least, that's how I end up anxious. I don't have the theological quotations to back myself up on this, but I'd be willing to bet that having peace in your soul is more of a matter of the openness of your heart to the Holy Spirit than of anything else. If I take a serious look at what areas of my life make me the most anxious, the answer is obvious: it's the areas I refuse to invite Christ into, the areas I try to maintain control of just because I'm afraid of what He'll do if I hand over the reins. 

But in reality, I'm just shooting myself in the foot because Christ is the only source of peace. There isn't another. And the sooner I fully believe that, the better.

Easier said than done, #amirite? I mean realistically, it's hard to just "not feel anxious". Feelings are not things we can necessarily control, at least not when they first come. But we do have the ability to decide what to do with them. Perhaps rather than either dwelling in anxiety and worry or suppressing it, a better option would be to enter in and ask, Have I allowed Christ in here at all?

And what better time than Advent to unclench the fists and start saying, "Come, Lord Jesus"? 

Back in September, I did a little personal experiment. That experience affected me profoundly, and I still continue to try to practice that intentional fearlessness in my life now (though September is long over!). Perhaps I will make this effort to invite Christ into my "control-areas" my Advent/December experiment. And just maybe I'll continue the practice long after Advent ends.

Because when I know Who I'm waiting for, and Who I'm waiting with - and, let's be real, Who is waiting for me - the waiting will probably not seem quite so terrible. I might even get better at it.

Have a blessed Advent season, y'all!

Let Me Tell You About How I Caught This Fever.

Nightfever.  What comes to mind when you read that?

A night club? Yeah, that's what I thought of.  Then I thought of Saturday Night Live and the cowbell sketch. Others thought of being awake in the middle of the night, clammy and puking (you're welcome for the visual).  Only one person told me he thought of John Travolta, which I think might be where the name technically comes from although I'm still not sure.

Whatever you thought of, my guess is that it wasn't "a night of adoration and evangelization during which hearts are touched by Christ in the Eucharist and the volunteers are transformed as much as those invited in from the street."

Or maybe it was, I don't know. But I'm guessing not.

I meant to write this update immediately after the event, but I couldn't figure out just how to put everything I was processing into a blog post. But it's been about 2 weeks so it's about time. I couldn't possibly do it justice, but I'll try to give you a taste of what Nightfever is about.

Approximately a month and a half ago, we started seriously planning for this thing called Nightfever to take place at the Cathedral on October 5th.  At the time, I had no idea what we were doing.  And I'll be real, my heart really was not in it for a long time.  I was sort of doing it because I had the time, needed things to do, and had somehow ended up partly in charge of it (still not entirely sure how that happened).

The night of the event, I didn't have very high expectations. I was mostly concerned that if it flopped, I would look and feel like a failure. In fact, before it started, I was so nervous about the whole thing that I thought I probably really DID have a fever, and not the good kind that we were apparently trying to spread that night.

Of course I wanted to reach people and save souls and all of that, but I wasn't setting the bar very high. I just wasn't sure it would work, you know? Adoration, priests for confession, music, candles - your typical Catholic population would be all over that, but was that really going to be enough to bring in the masses?  If I'm being perfectly honest, I had my doubts.

But God quickly showed me that what was about to happen was not about me at all; that His version of success was much better and more complete than my version of success; and once again that His love and mercy are extravagant, beyond measure, and far exceeding any expectations I could ever dream of having.

In short, He was about to blow my mind. 

Person after person came into the Cathedral that night, to light a candle and pray. Some spoke with priests - some of them were Catholic and went to confession, some were not and just needed someone to talk with them and pray with them.  I saw all of them come in - from those dressed in evening gowns to tourists to possible gangs and prostitutes. The stories are endless - I wish I could tell all of them, and I don't even know half of them.

One of the most profound experiences I had that night was when I spent a few moments singing to give the music team a break. I couldn't see the Blessed Sacrament anymore but I could see the faces of those praying in front of Him - and it blew my mind and utterly overwhelmed my heart.

Christ was meeting each of these people exactly where they were at. He knew their hearts, and His love and mercy touched each one of them - I could see it in their faces when they prayed.  Their heads may not have been able to explain transubstantiation to me, but their souls recognized God in the Eucharist - and they were moved. I was watching people encounter Love. 

My fear at the beginning of the night had been that the event wouldn't be enough to bring people in, to touch their hearts. Underneath all of that was really a fear that the Eucharist wasn't enough.  
And perhaps that fear extended into my own life; to quote a friend, it was a prayer I didn't really even know I had.

But I watched the Holy Spirit take over that night, and God answered my unknown prayer in ways I couldn't have imagined. I watched my friends, all the volunteers, being instruments of Christ's love; I felt my own self be used by the Holy Spirit; and I watched people praying in front of the Blessed Sacrament, encountering God and finding themselves deeply and truly loved by Him. And I saw clearly that He is more than enough. 

So...I caught the fever. 

The Eucharist is more than enough. Christ's love is more than enough. His mercy is more than enough. His grace is more than enough. He is more than enough.  Let Him show you how.

If you want to know more about Nightfever, check out www.nightfever.org. 

In Suspense and Incomplete

Above all, trust in the slow work of God.

We are quite naturally impatient in everything

     to reach the end without delay.

We should like to skip the intermediate stages.

We are impatient of being on the way to something

     unknown, something new.

And yet it is the law of all progress

     that it is made by passing through

     some stages of instability—

     and that it may take a very long time.

And so I think it is with you;

     your ideas mature gradually—let them grow,

     let them shape themselves, without undue haste.

Don’t try to force them on,

     as though you could be today what time

     (that is to say, grace and circumstances

     acting on your own good will)

     will make of you tomorrow.

Only God could say what this new spirit

     gradually forming within you will be.

Give Our Lord the benefit of believing

     that his hand is leading you,

and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself

     in suspense and incomplete.

—Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, SJ

Little Heart, Big Love

I'm starting to think that God is systematically foiling each of my plans.

...No, but really.

Approximately two months ago, my plan was to be in Rome, Italy, right now.  (I am in America.)

Approximately one month ago, my new plan was to be working full time in somewhat of a dream job right now.  (I am a part time & temporary nanny, part time 'consultant', and part time 'musician'.)

So like.. I had plans, you know? And in all the strangeness of His Mercy, the Lord has been foiling "my plans".

I say it is part of His Mercy, and I mean it. And beneath the turbulence of my shifting plans, He has given me a deep certainty that I am exactly where He wants me to be, for which I am grateful. But let's be clear:  That doesn't necessarily make it easy, and I haven't exactly been going down without a fight. On my best days, I'm only slightly bummed that I'm not in Rome and that my best friend lives across the country, and only mildly irritated at the fact that I'm still not fully employed and can't be fully independent yet. Believe me when I say that God has received more than His fair share of "earfuls" about all of it from me! (And I say "more than", given the fact that His "fair share" is approximately...zero.)

But through prayer and the action of the Holy Spirit in the many people with whom He has blessed my life, little by little I am coming to see that it is all, indeed, a work of His Mercy.  

You see, His love is very big - but my heart is little. The wine and the wineskins are mismatched, as it were.  And in His Mercy, boundless as it is, He is stretching me little by little, until I can contain more and more of His love.  

It's not the most pleasant of processes, to be stretched; but the alternative is to remain small.  He will always fill me to the brim with His love and life, with Himself.  But why be a thimble when I could be a 50 gallon drum? 

To return to the theme of life in abundance, CS Lewis said, "It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. ...We are far too easily pleased."

He loves me excessively, foolishly; He longs to give Himself to me more and more and more, but in order to do that, He has to make my heart bigger and bigger and bigger.  In His Mercy, He does it little by little - and, as it turns out, sometimes one foiled plan after another.

#mylifeatseminary: unexpected interactions

One time... I fell down the stairs, right into the arms of some random Vicar for Clergy. 

     Yep, that's right. This particular Tuesday morning was a rough one; one of those mornings where, 20 minutes after you wake up, you're kind of wishing you could just go back to bed and start over. Or fast forward to tomorrow.  

     So I essentially live at a retreat center, and on this particular day, there was a short conference for Vicars for Clergy going on.  They were a happy bunch, and as I walked out of my room and down the stairs to go to breakfast, I grumpily thought to myself: There are far too many people up and about and cheerful for this hour of the day. I really hope I don't have to talk to any of them. 

     Lo and behold, as I rounded the corner to the last flight of stairs, a whole pack of them was walking up the stairs towards me. One smiled and said good morning. Uh oh. Conversation. I smiled back and said hi, inwardly hoping I wouldn't have to continue interacting with him. I needed coffee first, you know? You understand, right?

     Well, immediately I missed the next stair, lost complete control, and Fr. Good-Morning caught me as I was falling. I ended up half on my butt on the stairs, half in his arms, and with a look of complete shock and bewilderment on my face. Assuring them I was okay and thanking my rescuer, I walked away laughing at myself. I applaud their self-control in not laughing - at least not while I was there!

     Far more interaction than I wanted that morning, and certainly not the way I would have wanted to introduce myself but it certainly cured my grumpiness. That and coffee. Coffee helped.

That's embarrassing anywhere, but with the Vicar for Clergy? Thankfully, he's not from this diocese and I'm banking on the odds that I'll never see him again!

Another time... I woke up and there was a bishop in my hallway.

     Running late as usual, I opened up my door and flew out of my room - right into the auxiliary bishop. The 'conversation' went something like this:

     

Externally: "Oh! Uh... good morning uh... Excellency. Uh... How are you?"

Internally: I said 'Excellency' and not 'Eminence', right? Shoot, why can't I remember his last name? Geez, he's up early.  Wait, why is he in my hallway...? My life is really weird. Is this a dream? An alb... he must have celebrated Mass in the chapel with Fr. So&So... that's cool. Oh shoot, that's right: Mass! I'm late!

I have no idea what he responded. I was too busy wondering how I had gotten to a point in my life where the first person I see in the morning could possibly be a Bishop. And all of this before breakfast. "You duped me, O Lord..."

#mylifeatseminary