Things that go bump in the night

Sorry for the radio silence the past two weeks. I was in the process of packing to move, and then moving/unpacking (which is still going on. The unpacking, that is), and between that and work, I was pretty full up. But I'm trying to get back into the swing of things, writing-wise.


So I've moved into this little house by myself, a cute little thing with two bedrooms and a bathroom straight out of the 60s, with mint-green tile accented with a black-tile border. Well, on the second night I was here, I was awakened by a crash. I sat bolt upright in bed, flipped on the light, checked the time (it was about 3:30 a.m.), and was out of my room and flipping on a hall light to see what was the matter...and to avoid tripping over boxes... in no time flat (probably the space of less than a minute).

Now, it's an older quiet neighborhood, but again, I'd only been in the house for two days, and I wasn't sure what was going on. But I wasn't thinking clearly enough to be cautious (it's like when you come home from a long day, or a trip, and it's dark and you flip on all the lights and then go around checking all the closets and under beds...or is that just me? And what on earth would I do if I found someone?) and if someone was trying to break in, I wanted to know.

So I get into my living/dining area and the problem is, fortunately nothing dangerous or dramatic, but only a curtain rod. See, there's a pair of French doors off the dining area into a screened patio, and I've been having the hardest time with the tension rod (it's actually a shower-curtain rod, since I thought it would hold up better. Haha, hold up! See what I did there? Ok, nevermind...) I bought to hang curtains to cover them. And let's just say it slips. A lot. Tension-rod failure, a fair amount of the time. The rod had been pulled down by the (negligible, seriously, they're not heavy) weight of curtains and clattered loudly to the tile floor, thus waking me up.

So what's the point of this little domestic tale?

As I moved to put the rod and curtains back into place, I realized I had something in my hand. It wasn't my cell phone, and it wasn't something to defend myself with, at least not in the traditional sense.

It was my rosary.

I may have mentioned before that I often sleep with it...or at least fall asleep with it. Sometimes I'm not even saying it, it's just a comfort to hold, a security blanket of a kind when I'm worried, or in an unfamiliar situation (new house making strange noises, for example), or awakened in the middle of the night with that uncomfortable feeling that someone, somewhere, needs prayers. When it's not in my hand at night, it's hanging from one of my bed posts. And when I do start saying my rosary at bedtime, I usually wake up in the morning and I'm sleeping on top of it (wooden and on a knotted cord, it's not coming apart easily).

But that one little incident the other night triggered something in my mind, a quote by a saint (I couldn't quite remember who) who called the rosary a weapon. 

The next morning (after going back to sleep) I Googled, and it turns out that there are a number of saints and blesseds who think of the rosary as one of the most powerful weapons we have:

“Give me an army saying the Rosary and I will conquer the world.” Pope Blessed Pius IX

“The Rosary is THE weapon for these times." Saint Padre Pio 

"The holy Rosary is a powerful weapon. Use it with confidence and you'll be amazed at the results."
St. Josemaria Escriva 

In fact, among the 15 promises for praying the rosary Our Lady gave to St. Dominic and Blessed Alan de la Roche (They're awesome, to say the least! You can read them all here), are protection and "a powerful armor" against that which will try and harm us.

It might have been silly to go rushing out into my living room without knowing what, if anything, was there, but clearly, the rosary is a weapon against sin, against evil, against temptation and, in my case, apparently against things that go bump in the night, even if they're just fallen curtain rods.

Catching a glimpse...

This morning, I mowed my parent's lawn. It's something I hadn't done since high school (or possibly during breaks in college, so it's been a while), and a chore I regularly complained about ever since my dad had me start doing it at 12. I couldn't tell you how many times I mowed it growing up. They have a quarter acre, so it's a big job, and my parents (still) don't have a riding mower. Now that my brothers and I are all out of the house, my dad usually mows it, but lately he hasn't been able due to illness, and my mom can't either.

As I carved out squares of shorter grass with the mower, I discovered that I didn't mind the chore it at all. And I realized something else: I have often wondered why none of my job applications for better positions in different states have yet to bear fruit. I often tell myself that God must have me still here for a reason, I just don't know what that reason was. But today I got a small answer. I still live where I do so that I'm near enough to drive up to my parent's place and help them with things they can't do anymore. They kept thanking me for doing the job, when it was such a little thing, really. God knew they would need the help, and that just the simple act of my being there would offer them comfort.

Last week was rough. The bombing at the Boston Marathon, and the aftermath that filled a city - a nation -  with fear and sadness; fear of what might be next, sadness for those lost and injured. Then came the plant explosion in Texas, more lives lost, more people's lives turned upside down.

Sometimes we wonder where God is in situations like that, and why he allows bad things to happen. I don't necessarily have the answer to that last one, but I know God was in all the people, first responders and bystanders who ran to help, not even thinking about themselves or intending to act heroically, but just wanting to render aid. It was in the country united in prayer to lift up those affected in both of those tragedies, showing love and support however they could.

My point is this: God knows what he's doing, even when things seem chaotic or unsure. He sees the big picture, while we don't, but every now and again, we catch a glimpse.

Distracted prayer

I don't know about you, but my prayer is rarely as focused as it needs to be. It became especially obvious as I sat in Adoration this morning and my mind couldn't stay still. I'd missed daily mass, so I read the readings for the day, then started a rosary. "Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is..." not the only thing on my brain. My thoughts ran the gamut, even as I prayed my way through the decades, even as I gazed at Jesus in the monstrance. Here, roughly in the order they came to me, is a small sampling of an hour's worth of thoughts:

 "Oh, that's an interesting jacket that woman's wearing. Four decades to go. The rosary seems to go so much faster when I pray it in the car in the morning. Is it because I'm moving and there's lots going on around me? Thank you, Lord, for protecting Amanda's daughter Grace after she took a 12-foot tumble out of their barn's hay loft. Thank you for allowing my brother to arrive at his Middle-Eastern deployment location safely. Will my friend Marie and her husband who are soon moving back to the area from their overseas deployment have any single male friends they might be able to set me up with? Should I sign up for a Catholic online dating site again? Or is that urge to troll through profiles of single men a temptation to not trust God with it? Be patient, be patient, be patient, please help me be patient. ... I love my rosary, how it's more than 100 year's old, and how the beads no longer stay in one place, having slipped their moorings through years of prayer. Maybe one day I'll wrap it around the stem of a wedding bouquet. It belonged to Miz Bertolotti, my great-grandmother who I never knew but from whom I inherited my awesomely dark under-eye circles. Yay, genetics! But we'll never really know where she got them, since her parents died and she and her siblings were adopted after the 1900 hurricane and Galveston flood. ... I'm glad my insomnia didn't keep me up last night, and I feel well-rested. I hope I can get up off my tail and make it back to the gym today, my jeans are tight. I need to wash some clothes, and make sure I get to the dentist on time (I could have done without my phone going off at 3:30 this morning with a reminder of the appointment, though), and the store, too, since I'm out of lunch meat and tomatoes and why am I suddenly craving orange juice? Please let the rental application for the new place be accepted if it's God's will. ... What is God's will for me to write for GoodGirls today? About yesterday's gospel and how the 153 fish represent the diverse population of the Church, and how the net, which didn't tear despite the weight of the fish, is the Church itself? Or about God's love for us, or Peter's love for Jesus? Or possibly about how I can't imagine living my life without this faith, this beautiful Church and it's sacraments. Thank you, Jesus, for giving me the opportunity to make it to confession Saturday! How DO people live without you, when life gets crazy or bad things happen? ...mmm, I love the smell of incense. One day I need to learn the "Tantum Ergo" by heart..."

As Adoration wound to a close, I realized how little I'd focused. I'd finished my rosary, certainly, and thanked God for the time spent with him, but oh, how I wish I could have just sat still and made my mind a blank page, receptive to what the Lord wanted to tell me! But then, after reposing the Blessed Sacrament, the deacon turned to the small group in the church and thanked us for coming. "God loves you so much, but he loves you even more because you chose to spend time with him today." That eased my mind a bit.

It also was reassuring, once I got home and did a little research, to find that some of the saints struggled with distractions, too. "Even very devout servants of God complain about wanderings and instability of the mind," St. Ignatius of Loyola once said. Among them are St. Gemma Galgani (we celebrated her feast day last week), who once asked God to be forgiving of the wanderings of her mind in prayer: "Oh God... my God! ... Do not be offended if in the morning I come as I am!"

Also, St. Therese of Lisieux, a doctor of the Church, struggled with distractions. In "The Story of a Soul," she writes: "...the recitation of the rosary is more difficult for me than the wearing of an instrument of penance. I feel I have said this so poorly! I force myself in vain to meditate on the mysteries of the rosary; I don't succeed in fixing my mind on them. For a long time I was desolate about this lack of devotion which astonished me, for I love the Blessed Virgin so much that it should be easy for me to recite in her honor prayers which are so pleasing to her."

So while I will work to be better at focusing on my prayer when distractions arise, it seems I'm at least in good company.

Have a blessed week!

The Annunciation

Can you imagine being 14 or 15, and suddenly having an angel appear before you? Not only that, but then the angel says you're going to have a baby. And not just any baby -- the savior of the world.

I don't know about you, but I'd freak out.

On a silent women's retreat several years ago with the Sisters of Life, one of the nuns guided us in a reflection. She asked us to read the gospel passage for the day and imagine ourselves in the place of one of the people of the story. Who were we? A towns person, or one of the disciples? How did we imagine the scene? Was it hot, for instance? How did the actions of Jesus make us feel? Why?

So, I think back to when I was 15. Putting aside a lack of worthiness, how would I feel if the Annunciation had happened to me? When you're a teenager, everything -- even the littlest of things -- is dramatic, so I can't imagine being calm. Angels have no earthly bodies, so I'm a little hard-pressed to imagine how Gabriel would appear, too. He's always depicted in human form, but would that really have been the case? Perhaps Mary was afraid, but was calmed when the angel told her not to give in to fear. Still, were I to suddenly find my virginal self pregnant, I'd be fearful and so confused... about how it happened, and what my parents would think.

Yet in today's gospel reading for the Solemnity of the Annunciation of our Lord, Mary seems so calm. St. Luke does tell us that Mary was "greatly troubled" at the angel Gabriel's greeting, but other than that, she hardly seems astonished to see a celestial being standing in her bedroom. And she's curious, sure, about how she'll soon be with child, as she has "no relations with a  man. As the gospel makes no mention of her parents, I suppose Sts. Anne and Joachim are away from home. I feel like it would be morning, the start of both the day, and of God doing something completely new.

And Mary said yes. Plans were made, she was betrothed to St. Joseph already, yet she trusted in God's will for her. Born without sin, she had been made ready even before this moment.  She thrilled at the news that her cousin, Elizabeth, was also with child. Could I have done the same? I like to think that I trust in God completely, but it is so hard sometimes, and I know I don't always. Sometimes I let fears get the better of me, and panic. Mary just said yes.

Blessed Mother, pray for us!

Habemus Papem!!

Everything, and I do mean everything, I read about our new pontiff, Pope Francis (it's neat just to type it! I'm so, so incredibly glad we have a Holy Father again!), the more I praise the Holy Spirit for guiding the college of cardinals to elect this man. Our Church is so blessed!

So many have already, so quickly, written about his background, and his humility -- reflecting on how he lived simply as a cardinal in Buenos Aires, taking the bus, living in a small apartment and cooking his own food, rather than living in a vast house with servants; and the fact that he asked for the world to pray for him, as his first act as the Holy Father. He's a Jesuit who has chosen the name Francis! Not only is he humble, but he's smart, with degrees in chemistry, philosophy, and theology, and he's taught all of them, along with literature and psychology as well. AMDG!

I didn't think it would be this soon. Only the second, and first full, day of conclave after an afternoon session on the 12th. Only five rounds of voting. I'd thought it more likely that Thursday would see a new pope.

I was at work and had just finished eating lunch at my desk when suddenly someone pointed out smoke was pouring out of the chimney of the Sistine Chapel. Dark in Rome, it was hard to tell at first if the smoke was just gray. I got up from my desk and walked closer to the TV, actually leaning in as if being closer to the TV would make it more obvious. And the smoke continued to lighten. It was just after 2 p.m. And the smoke was white. "Congratulations!" my boss, sitting at her desk nearby, said to me.

I was supposed to go to an assignment around 2. Fortunately there was a window, from 2-4 p.m., for me to go and take some pictures. Knowing how important this was to me, my boss said I could turn up the volume on the television. I told my boss, laughingly but in all seriousness as I sat down in front of the newsroom TV, that I wasn't going to leave until we found out who the new pope was. As the minutes ticked by, I got more nervous that I wasn't going to be there. I even started nervous eating, practically inhaling the contents of a nearby box of Girl Scout Tagalongs. But then came the announcement, and I couldn't hear, what with some of my coworkers yammering on circled behind me to watch the announcement. And then the microphone for the announcement didn't seem to be working, either. A moment of frustration! It wasn't until his name, Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio, scrolled across the screen that we knew. He wasn't one of the cardinals I was familiar with.

Still, I wanted to hear and see our new pope, but I had to leave the office and do my job. As I drove to my assignment, I flipped on the radio and I was able to hear the very first portion of his address to the crowds, "Here I am," and the Holy Father leading the crowds in prayer for our Pope Emeritus, Benedict XVI. It was lovely and simple and brought tears to my eyes. Coming back to the office afterwards, I read his full statement, and was immediately struck by it's simplicity and gentleness, it's beauty and modesty. I would expect nothing less from a man who, when he was elevated to cardinal, chose as his motto miserando atque eligendo, “lowly and yet chosen.”

Already, it is so easy to love him, our new papa!

A letter to my 25-year-old self

Dear Anne at 25:

Hi there. Don't be shocked to receive a letter from yourself nearly 10 years in the future (I turn 35 Wednesday). My reason for writing this is to offer you some encouragement while you sit waiting for your life to begin. It's also to encourage myself because, frankly, I've felt a bit under attack the last few days as I approach my birthday, and I think I need a reminder.

So here's a possibly hard truth: you're life has been going for a while now. You're in the midst of it. I'd like to tell you that when you get to where I am, in 2013, you'll have no regrets, that you're married to an amazing man, you have several kids, have written a novel or two and life is perfect, but that isn't the case. You're still single, so no husband or kids. You're too busy to write those novels at the moment. Fortunately, your regrets are few, and none of them major.

This doesn't sound at all encouraging, does it? Hold that thought.

I know right now back in 2003 you're feeling a bit stuck, living at home with mom and dad post-grad school while you job hunt. Dad wants you to take any job that comes along (if I remember correctly, he's pushing a job at a local insurance company), but you want to write, so stick to your guns. The job you get isn't perfect (and no job is), and it's not the highest-paying gig, but you learn a lot. I'm still there, and there have some pretty amazing coworkers.

You see all your friends are pairing off, getting married and having babies. You've been to a load of weddings lately. You share their joy, but you want that joy for yourself. And you are in mid-crush on Patrick. I know he seems like the be-all and end-all of Catholic guy perfection: prayerful, cute, engineer-smart and writing you those witty, lengthy emails from where he is in New Mexico. You're thinking about a possible future with him. I know it's too late to say don't get so caught up in the whole thing, but try to curb it a little. You spend way too much time daydreaming about him. Nothing comes of it. I don't say this to be discouraging or cruel, mind. I just want you to realize that sometimes, crushes can come close to idolatry. If he were really invested in you, he would show it. Give your heart to the Lord instead, and He will care for it so devotedly.

So you're wondering where the upside is. From where you sit, you're probably thinking I'm some washed-up spinster. But you're not alone. You have a pretty amazing roommate. I know you have no kids of your own, but I do have five -- yes, five! -- wonderful godchildren. People still think I'm in my late 20s. I am loved and appreciated and supported by so many. I don't feel old at all, so let me tell you, 35 is hardly the end of the world. And speaking of the world, you know how you want so desperately to travel? There is plenty of travel in your future. Hawaii is coming up pretty soon for you, actually. Then there's a fair amount of domestic travel in the contiguous 48, too. You're heading to Oregon, Nevada, D.C., to name a few. And Italy. This will be the most amazing gift and help you grow in so many ways. Puerto Rico is coming on the horizon for me in the next few months as well.

I want to encourage you to take advantage of this time that you have. Learn new things. Take up some new hobbies. Volunteer. You're going to have a great time working with the youth group at church soon. This may not make much sense to you, but your friends with kids? A few of them are actually envious of you. You can read uninterrupted for hours, and run into the store for 20 minutes without hauling what seems like a week's-worth of camping supplies with you to keep the kids happy and occupied. You can travel. Don't waste this time. There is so much you can accomplish, so much help you can give, just as you are.

Finally (although this is probably the most important thing), at 35, you're going to be much deeper in your prayer life than you are now. This is a good thing. God deserves your attention. He longs for it. Be open to His guidance. Although it's an ongoing struggle (and I'm hardly a pro at this), I can say that trust Him so much more now than you do. His plans are not yours, and while you are going to be frustrated about how things work out sometimes, ultimately that is a very good thing. All those things you hope for? It's not that you don't deserve them, because you -- I -- do. Take it from me when I say you weren't ready. I still may not be. But I know that God's plans are all for the good, and He watches over me.

The future is unwritten, ultimately, and only the Lord knows what's in store. Have faith in that. Take some chances, because he won't let you fall. And when things look cloudy, lean into His embrace, because He will hold you fast.

"The LORD, your God, is in your midst,

a mighty savior,

Who will rejoice over you with gladness,

and renew you in his love,

Who will sing joyfully because of you."

Zephaniah 3:17 

Love, 

Anne at (practically) 35

Our Holy Father's decision

Today I was going to write about Lent. About what I'm giving up (going out for lunches during the week. I've been spending too much money doing that lately, and need to cut back) and what I was going to do as something extra (finally learn all the mysteries of the Rosary. As a lifelong Catholic who is almost 35, I should know them by now, but don't). I might do some extra spiritual reading as well, but I haven't decided on the book yet. Perhaps something by our Holy Father?

Because I would be remiss if I didn't say something instead about today's big news: that Pope Benedict XVI has decided to abdicate the Chair of Peter. In his statement, he said:

"After having repeatedly examined my conscience before God, I have come to the certainty that my strengths, due to an advanced age, are no longer suited to an adequate exercise of the Petrine ministry.
I am well aware that this ministry, due to its essential spiritual nature, must be carried out not only with words and deeds, but no less with prayer and suffering. However, in today’s world, subject to so many rapid changes and shaken by questions of deep relevance for the life of faith, in order to govern the bark of Saint Peter and proclaim the Gospel, both strength of mind and body are necessary, strength which in the last few months, has deteriorated in me to the extent that I have had to recognize my incapacity to adequately fulfill the ministry entrusted to me."


I've seen all sorts of reactions on Facebook, mostly reflecting shock (the first post I saw, just after 7, said nothing about resignation but only that we'd have a new pope by Easter, which for a moment made me think His Holiness had passed suddenly), but also prayerful acceptance and understanding, along with praise for his humility.

One, however, criticized his decision to do so right before Lent. But I think he chose this week, this day, on purpose. Not only is today the feast of Our Lady of Lourdes, but also World Day of the Sick. If His Holiness is indeed ill and suffering, that makes so much sense. But the fact that Lent begins Wednesday, to me, makes his announcement today even more profound. Lent is a time of reflection, a time to turn and return to the Lord, to offer Him our failures, our sorrows, our need for healing on all levels, to be open to His grace and recall that without Jesus' sacrifice, we would truly be without hope.. What better time to entrust the entire Church to the Lord? For the Church Universal to really increase in prayer, for both our Holy Father as he serves out his last weeks, as well as for the cardinals who will soon enter Conclave to choose Benedict's successor? The Pope even directs us to do so in his statement: 

"And now, let us entrust the Holy Church to the care of Our Supreme Pastor, Our Lord Jesus Christ, and implore his holy Mother Mary, so that she may assist the Cardinal Fathers with her maternal solicitude, in electing a new Supreme Pontiff."

May God bless Pope Benedict, his successor, and all the Church! And may you have a blessed Ash Wednesday!

“If we take the Lord’s hand and let ourselves be guided by him, the path we take will be right and good.”
-Pope Benedict XVI

...but the greatest of these is Love.

Scattered thoughts this morning about love and perseverance, surrender and seeking God, after yesterday's second reading (1 Corinthians 12:31-13:13). And since I've been sitting here trying to formulate something muse-worthy and am coming up empty with words of my own (writer's block being a very real thing sometimes), I'm going to let a blessed, a poet and a saint do it for me.

Blessed Mother Teresa, on holiness:

"In order to be saints, you have to seriously want to be one.
St. Thomas Aquinas assures us that holiness 'is nothing else but a resolution made, the heroic act of a soul that surrenders to God.' And he adds: 'Spontaneously we love God, we run towards him, we get close to him, we possess him.'
Our willingness is important because it changes us into the image of God and likens us to him! The decision to be holy is a very dear one. 
Renunciation, temptations, struggles, persecutions, and all kinds of sacrifices are what surround the soul that has opted for holiness."

Love, by George Herbert

"Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back;
            Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
            From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,
            If I lacked any thing.

'A guest,' I answered, 'worthy to be here':
            Love said, 'You shall be he.'
'I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear,
            I cannot look on thee.'
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
            'Who made the eyes but I?'

'Truth, Lord, but I have marred them: let my shame
            Go where it doth deserve.'
'And know you not,' says Love, 'who bore the blame?'
            'My dear, then I will serve.'
'You must sit down,' says Love, 'and taste my meat':
            So I did sit and eat."

A Seeker's Prayer, by St. Anselm of Canterbury

"O my God, teach my heart where
and how to seek you,

where and how to find you. 

You are my God and you are my

all, yet I have never seen you. 

You have made me and remade me,

you have bestowed on me all the 

good things I possess;

still I do not know you.

I have not yet done that for

which I was made;

teach me to seek you. 

I cannot seek you unless you

teach me, or find you unless

you show yourself to me.

Let me seek you in my desire,

let me desire you in my seeking.

Let me find you by loving you,

let me love you when I find you.

Amen."

Starting the day off right

I don't always make it to daily Mass. But I do try every day to set aside about 20 minutes of my morning for prayer and the daily Mass readings. If I don't make time in the morning, my entire day somehow feels off: I'm grumpier, shorter of temper, more susceptible to things like office gossip and just more easily distracted in general.

Even first thing in the morning, I can feel the pull and tugs of distractions trying to keep me from morning prayer, of those little demons trying to find an in by casting my thoughts in a different direction. I've become more intuned to them as I've gotten older and deepened my prayer life. And they're so small, almost meaningless things, like: "Oh, let me just go make some coffee first," "I just want to read a few more pages of my novel," or "let me just hop on my computer real quick to check Facebook." Then all of a sudden I haven't had breakfast and still need to take a shower and clearly haven't prayed, but only have 20 minutes before I need to get out the door and on my way.

On those days I'll grab my prayer books and copy of Magnificat on the way out the door and cram them into my purse or computer bag, thinking I'll have a chance to catch some prayer time at lunch. But more often than not, the day gets busy, I eat lunch at my desk while continuing to work, and the afternoon flies by. Sometimes, I'll leave the office, hit the gym, come home, shower and make dinner and then all of a sudden it's 9 o'clock and -- aside from a couple of hurried prayers over meals and crossing myself as I pass a church along my route to work -- I realize I haven't prayed all day.

A couple of times, trying to circumvent the lack of prayer time in the morning, I would actually read the morning prayers from Magnificat while I drove to work, reading a few verses of the Psalm or the daily intentions here and there as I drove. I very fortunately never got in an accident while I did this. Regardless of how much God wants me to give Him some of my time, I'm pretty sure He doesn't want me to crash my car in the attempt, so I wouldn't recommend this for anyone's commute, unless of course you take a bus or Metro to school or the office.

So these days I'm setting my alarm a little bit earlier to make sure I get in that all important prayer time. There are still days I miss, but I'm getting better. And I can tell the difference. I'm more open to seeing God's hand in things, more at peace, more patient.

Now I just need to work on waiting until I'm so tired I can barely keep my eyes open to do my evening prayer and examination of conscience...

The Wedding at Cana

Yesterday's gospel reading recounted the Wedding Feast at Cana, site of Christ's first public miracle and the beginning of his path to the Cross. While the changing of the water into fine wine is absolutely miraculous, and reflective of God's generosity, something that has always struck me about this passage from John's gospel is the way Jesus seems to speak to the Blessed Mother. When she points out to him that "They have no wine," his response is "Woman, how does your concern affect me? My hour has not yet come." It almost seems rude, or even petulant.

Maybe it's my Southern upbringing. My mom was born and raised in Mobile, Alabama. Both her parents hailed from the state as well, so it should come as no surprise that manners and respect for elders were instilled in my younger brothers and me, especially -- being raised to act as a lady --  from a young age. And, because my mom, not easily riled (she teaches middle school students, so generally has the patience of a saint) usually is such a slow burn when it comes to outbursts of temper, the one time I called her "Woman" in a moment of teenage angst is one I won't forget, probably because I was so surprised by it. While I don't remember why I addressed her as such, I can still hear her response: "I am NOT a woman!" she said -- this not being an appropriate time to point out her gender, I stayed silent. "I am your mother, and you will address me as such."

This now long-past exchange between myself and my mom typically flashes through my head whenever this reading is proclaimed at Mass. But maybe I'm just reading too much -- or too little? -- into it. Perhaps (and this is the more likely scenario), not being a Biblical scholar, there is more to it than I am even aware of.

Back in September of last year, Mark Shea wrote about this exact thing in his blog for the National Catholic Register. He talks about how some see Jesus' response as a rebuke of Mary, or think that Mary was trying to "show off" her son. But neither of those is correct. And since Mark Shea is clearly more knowledgeable than me, I'm going to let him speak for himself. Here's an excerpt:

"A Catholic reading would urge us away from the assumption that Jesus and Mary are in conflict at all. ... What we’re seeing here is not Jesus the Teenage Messiah hagridden by mom and her neurotic need to impress the ladies from the Women’s Auxiliary with “My son, the Miracle Worker.” ... We’re seeing a piece of conversation—almost banter— between two people who are both acutely aware of who Jesus is and what he is called to do. Mary, after all, is no fool. She knows her Bible. She knows the meaning of the mission of Israel. And most of all, she knows her Son. ... Every word both Jesus and Mary speak is spoken in light of their shared awareness of that messianic mission and of the words of the prophets who taught Israel to await his coming. With all that as the backdrop of their conversation, Mary is revealed to be using language laden with double meaning to lovingly call Jesus to get on with his mission, not to impress the neighbors with a special effect or publicity stunt. Her point is not simply that the wedding guests have no wine. It’s that the whole nation has no wine."

So instead of getting stuck on specific words, the point here is to instead see the way Christ acts in response to his mother's prompting.  

Shea continues: "So Jesus acknowledges Mary’s messianic expectation by replying that his “hour” has not yet come (a reply that makes no sense unless he knows Mary is calling him to begin his messianic mission). More subtly still, he acknowledges his messianic mission by calling her “Woman.” This is more than simply a polite address. It is, like all the rest of their exchange, as allusive to larger Old Testament prophetic realities as Mary’s request is. For in addressing her so, he is reminding us of another woman and the promise she and her seed were given long ago (Gen. 3:15) to “crush the serpent’s head.” The whole conversation makes it clear that Mary believes it’s time for Jesus to announce his identity as Messiah and inaugurate the final decisive battle ... with “that ancient serpent, who is called the Devil and Satan” (Rev. 12:9); that Jesus knows perfectly well this is what she means; and that she knows he knows it. Rather than some inane request for drinks all round followed by a meaningless “rebuke,” what we’re really looking at here is a profound conversation in which Jesus and Mary know and understand each other perfectly."

Jesus says it's not yet his time, that this isn't how he planned to begin his life of public ministry, but he does what the Blessed Mother suggests anyway. He is an obedient son, not a snarky one. Just as she tells the waiters to "Do whatever he (Jesus) tells you," Jesus does as his mother suggests "and so revealed his glory, and his disciples began to believe in him."

You can read Mark Shea's whole post on the Wedding at Cana here: www.ncregister.com/blog/mark-shea/the-significance-of-the-wedding-at-cana

Listening to God's voice

For Christmas, my mother gave me a daily devotional book entitled "Jesus Calling" by Sarah Young. It was a book my mom had found particularly uplifting, so she wanted to share. The devotions in it, each paired with a Bible verse or two, stem from Young truly endeavoring to listen to what God was trying to say to her during her daily prayer time, and writing those messages from the Lord down in her journal as if he was speaking to her directly. She decided to give it a shot because, despite knowing God spoke through Scripture, she was yearning for more of Him (although not Catholic, something tells me Young might get a lot out of Adoration).

The wife of a Christian missionary, Young writes in the introduction to her book that stilling herself enough to actually hear what God was trying to tell her was difficult, and that she felt awkward at first writing down these messages she heard from Him. Through practice, though, it eventually became easier to discern what God wanted her to hear.

If you've never tried writing a letter to yourself, written as if God was talking to you directly, you might want to give it a shot. In college at Florida State, the campus ministers at the Co-Cathedral of St. Thomas More were members of the Brotherhood of Hope, based out of Boston. We would have retreats each semester and, on the last day, when we weren't in small group time, or listening to a talk or watching a skit, we were charged to go off individually, find a quiet space, and write a letter to ourselves from God. It never seemed like an odd thing to do. After they were written, we would put them in a provided envelope and turn them in. The Brothers would mail them to us sometime later, and they would arrive, unexpectedly, about a month or so after the retreat, maybe, a reminder of time spent away from the pressures of school and the "real" world, simply being in the Lord's presence.

I think many of us have that problem sometimes, not just in finding time for quiet prayer, away from work and the world around us, but especially when discerning what God wants to say to us, as opposed to our own voices. I know I do sometimes.

I still have all of those letters I wrote to myself, from God. Now and again, as I'm going through a wayward box, I'll stumble upon one mixed in with old movies stubs (why on earth do I keep those, anyway?), term papers and birthday cards. The funny thing is, they contain, along with Bible passages I found moving at the time, reminders of things I still need to hear from Him today: Trust in His plan. Don't be in too much of a hurry. Know that you are loved beyond all telling. Be patient.

Whether the Lord speaks to us in letters or simply in prayer time, though, being open to His voice is a challenge. While He sometimes roars at us, more often, as with the Prophet Elijah, it is in a "still, small voice."

Oh, God, help us to listen!

Consolation in friendship

Welcome to the late (really late!) Thursday edition of Monday Musings. Forgive me for not posting earlier this week, but I was traveling, without my computer over the weekend, and didn't get home until late Monday night. And from there, the week just got away from me!

As some of you (several of whom I've now had the pleasure of finally meeting in person) know, I live in Florida. But I was up in D.C. for a long weekend recently to attend (and proclaim one of the readings at ) the wedding of Good Girls Founder Jessica Balile (formerly Lanza) and her husband, Sean. I was honored to read the second reading and privileged to share in their joy. It was a wonderful celebration, and a great party. The weekend also offered me an opportunity for a little bit of spiritual renewal and the chance to catch up with my cousin, who I hadn't seen in more than two years.

You might find it odd to think that a four-day weekend not spent on retreat could provide any sort of spiritual renewal, but let me try to explain it this way: I have a faith community, they're just not where I live.

When you're blessed enough to spend time in a thriving faith community, be it a great high school youth group, an active Catholic campus ministry in college or a parish where there are activities geared toward parishioners of all ages, you often don't consider what it's like to not have that community available.

In college, I had that community at the Catholic Student Union at Florida State University. It was my second home, and where I made many long-term friends. But when college ended, many of us went to work, scattered across the country in places where parishes were geared toward families, or retirees (there are lots of those in Florida!), and active community became harder to come by or practically non-existent. And it can sometimes be a stark wake-up call when you try to make it on your own without that familial presence immediately at hand; when none of the friends you have are people of faith and therefore don't understand why anyone would say a month-long novena or want to voluntarily read books written by (or about) saints, much less attend church regularly.

Of course, having friends at the other end of the phone (or keyboard!) is an immense help, but no substitute for sitting at a table over a meal with friends -- some you'd never met before, but can instantly connect with, because you have that faith base -- seamlessly weaving through conversation topics as varied as possible (or utterly ridiculous) saints names for children, current movie selections and Natural Family Planning.  Something as simple as trading dating stories and discussing prayer lives on a long walk, or spending time hanging out at church all Sunday morning, post Mass, to learn more deeply about your faith, can be a huge blessing when it is something you don't experience very often any more.

This trip offered me that: a small taste of the community that I remember, as well as a renewal of God's presence in groups gathered in His name that I don't often get when I'm at home. And as my long weekend drew to a close, the two words that kept running through my head were refreshment and, somewhat surprisingly, consolation.

The Oxford English Dictionary defines consolation as an "alleviation of sorrow or mental distress; the act of being consoled" or as "a fact (or) event that serves to console." Console itself is a verb which means "to comfort in disappointment or distress."

Now, I would hardly call myself sorrowful, or even mentally distressed (except in moments of hormonally-induced fits of self-pity), but I do feel comforted, and somehow more content in myself, now that I'm home again. In my journal, while I somewhat lamented the fact that I had to go back to my everyday life, I also praised God for the strengthening and encouragement I received, merely by being present with other Catholics.

In "An Introduction to the Devout Life," St. Francis de Sales says of true friendship: "If your bond ... be charity, devotion and Christian perfection, then indeed will your friendship be precious; precious because it has its origins in God, because it is maintained in God, and because it will endure forever in Him. ... It is needful for those who are in the world, and (who) seek after virtue, to bind themselves together in a holy and sacred friendship, by means of which they encourage, stimulate, and forward one another in doing good. ... Those who are in the world need them, to aid and succor one another in the many evils and dangers in which they encounter."

So I thank you, ladies, for your friendship and prayers, and for those of you I laughed and prayed with this past weekend. May we all continue to cherish, support and encourage one another in faith as we journey through this life!

And I promise my musing will be back on track again this coming Monday. :)

Joyful New Year!

I think we all make New Year's resolutions. Whether or not we keep them, well that's another story.

Last year around this time, I vowed to exercise more (didn't happen), write more creatively (I did ok, but I can do better) and to clean out my refrigerator. The only reason I think I actually accomplished that last one completely is because I moved from my old apartment.

The one resolution I kept perfectly, oddly enough, was keeping track of the books I read in 2012. I read so quickly that most of the time (although many do stand out) I can't remember all the books I read in a year, so I decided to record each of them in a spare journal. I was so good about it, in fact, that even when I didn't have the journal with me, I would jot down the start date of a book on a piece of scrap paper and then use it as a bookmark, recording it dutifully in the journal once I got home. The answer is 61, by the way, the number of books I read (two I haven't finished and will carry over into 2013). Some were fantastic. Others went immediately into the donation bag. But now at least I'll remember them all.

Anyway, 2012 wasn't one of those years that will go down on the record books for me as being completely phenomenal. I worked a lot. In fact, I probably worked more than I did anything else. There's something to try and change for 2013: finding more balance so work doesn't consume my life.

So while I wouldn't call 2012 the most fabulous year of my life, it was far from the worst. I got to spend time with family and friends, I took a lovely vacation to Georgia and North Carolina (a state I'd never done more than drive through before October), and I got a new roommate after years of living by myself. But as I sat here trying to recall some of the year's higher points (beyond those I've already noted), I was kind of drawing a blank. I'm sure there were many moments that I've forgotten. I should start journaling again in 2013...

But even if I don't journal more, I think I might have found an alternative. On Facebook yesterday, one of my friends posted a good New Year's idea (as with many things on Facebook, she'd shared it from someone else's wall, so I can't take any credit for it): every time something joyful happens -- big or small -- write it down on a piece of paper and put it in an empty jar. That way, at the end of 2013, you can open the jar, read the notes and be reminded.

So I think I'm going to do it. The writing things down worked so well with the books, why not try it with joyful events? Besides, I always have scrap paper handy, and I already have a jar. :)

"In thanksgiving for the time that has been, in hope for the time that is to come,"

Happy New Year!

61 books (in 2012) and counting

So as I sit here in my pjs on the couch, watching Goonies (The Avengers is next!) with a chilled glass of Moscato and a vanilla rum cupcake (baked by my roomie. Thanks Pam!) on the coffee table(will that count as mixing my liquors?), I have no problem with the fact that I'm spending New Year's Eve alone (with the exception of my roommate's dog, Trustee, who is totally panicked and hyperventilating because of the fireworks neighbors are shooting off). In fact, going out was the last thing I wanted to do tonight. My one (admittedly lame) goal for the night, aside from relaxing, was to waterproof a pair of boots. Mission accomplished! LOL

Anyhoo, one of the only resolutions I made this year and kept completely with was to record all the books I read in 2012. Inspired by a friend's blog at the end of 2011, I realized that I had no idea how many books I'd read that year, so in order to know for sure how many I read in 2012, I grabbed one of my many empty journals and started a list. I had no particular goal for the number of books I wanted to read, but there were several I had received for Christmas that I wanted to tackle ("Death Comes to Pemberly," "The History of the World in 100 Objects," "Hedy's Folly) and did, as well as a a few I wanted to reread ("The Screwtape Letters" and "War & Peace," specifically).

All told, I read and completed 61 books in 2012. There are two I started and haven't yet finished: "Crossing the Borders of Time" (a true story about the daughter of a Holocaust survivor trying to search out what happened to her mother's first love after the two were separated by war) which I started only on Saturday night; the second is St. Augustine's "Confessions" which I'm taking slowly on purpose. St. Augustine isn't a Doctor of the Church for nothing. There's a lot of depth there. :)

Overall, the list just makes it onto the fourteenth page of the journal. Some of the entries include commentaries on the books (an Agatha Christie novel I'd never read, "Destination Unknown" which I noted it seemed "very cinematic," was fabulous, as was "Les Miserables," which I hadn't read before, "A Canticle for Leibowitz" and "The Guernsey Literary Guild and Potato Peel Pie Society."). Others notated I would immediately be relegating them to the donation bag.

Don't worry, I wont be naming them all. :) But the list represents fiction and non-fiction (mostly history), spiritual reading ( two by Fulton Sheen in addition to C.S. Lewis and St. Augustine), comic biography ("Confessions of a Prairie Bitch" by Alison Arngrim, who played Nellie on "Little House on the Prairie"), a poetry anthology, one children's book, science ("The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks"), some chick-lit, a true crime novel and a couple of thrillers passed along to me by my dad.

In addition to rereading "War and Peace" (which took me nearly two months) I also reread "The Hobbit," the Hunger Games trilogy (in advance of the movie) and "Pride and Prejudice," which I've read once a year since I was 12.

As for 2013, I will keep on with St. Augustine. I also want to read Thomas Merton's "Seeds of Contemplation" and a history of St. Peter's Basilica that I picked up at a used bookstore while on vacation in North Carolina in October. I'd like to reread "Brideshead Revisited" (the last time I read that one was in high school somewhere around sophomore year, inspired by the fact that Bravo was showing reruns of the 1981 miniseries staring Jeremy Irons and Anthony Andrews which I would come home and watch after school) as well as "Persuasion." It's actually my second favorite of Austen's novels and I haven't read it in quite a while.

There are a more than a few books I haven't bought/checked out/borrowed yet, namely the newest novels by Charles Finch and Kate Morton. There are somewhere between five and 10 books I've snapped pictures of on my cell so I can remember them for later, including one called "Shakespeare's Tremors and Orwell's Cough," a book written by a doctor about the various maladies suffered by famous authors, and "The Lawgiver" a semi-comic novel written mostly in epistolary form by Herman Wouk, author of "Winds of War" and "War and Remembrance." My boss also just loaned me "Gone Girl," which I've been meaning to read, both because the premise intrigues me and also because my best friend listened to the audio book on her morning and afternoon commutes and wants someone to discuss it with. I also want to read "Call the Midwife," which I recently picked up at Target. I've seen the first set of the BBC miniseries based off of it and it completely sucked me in.

Actually, there is a third book I haven't finished and I now realize I failed to record as part of the aforementioned list. In October, I started reading the Catechism of the Catholic Church as part of the Year of Faith, via emails sent out daily to a listserve who signed up to read it. I've actually fallen behind with that (the unread emails that are sent out every day, dividing it into manageable chunks, stare at me whenever I check my email) and it's my goal to catch up.

Then there's the bin of unread books waiting patiently for me under my bed... But for now, it's time for wine and a cupcake. Happy New Year!

Joy and mourning

A lot of people in the world of Catholic blogging have been writing about the horrible tragedy last week in Newtown, Connecticut, along with the irony of it being followed two days later by Gaudete Sunday, the third Sunday in Advent meant for joy.

Possibly because of the Connecticut shooting, I couldn't help but notice all the little children sitting in the pews around me during morning mass. Some of them got a bit cranky, or talked a little too loudly, but I didn't mind. What bothered me more, though, was the retirees who kept gaping, turning their heads left and right every time a child made so much as a peep. Exiting church at the end of mass, one older woman, who looked to be at least 75, even patted a 4-year old boy who had been sitting down the pew from me on the head and said "You make too much noise."

Curbing my desire to tell her to mind her own business (I was raised to respect elders, for one, and secondly, I'd just received Jesus in the Eucharist so thought it best not to be snarky), I also wanted to ask if she'd been listening to Father, or if she'd even seen the news, or tell her that she perhaps might be grateful for the little children in our midst (and that their parents bring them to church). The little boy wasn't that loud. He was being 4, and his mother dealt with him appropriately.

Ultimately, I don't think I can come up with anything better than what has already been written and said by a number of others. But I ache for those families of the children, teachers and administrators. Everyone, whether directly or indirectly, has been impacted by tragedies. I don't know why He allows bad things to happen. Sitting in mass Sunday morning, Father talked about evil in the world, and how, despite our best efforts to keep it at bay, sometimes evil happens. But we can't live our lives in fear. And I think, although it's hard to wrap our minds around sometimes, that's why we are asked to still be joyful. Jesus' birth is right around the corner. All we can do is lean on God in our sorrow and pray for everyone involved, and, despite the evil in the world, know the Lord will never abandon us.

Some things that make me happy

Recently my friend David, who blogs over at restlesspilgrim.net, posted about things that make him happy, writing "What are the things which make you really, truly happy? Where are the places you can always find joy?" He then proceeded to list his top 10.

And it got me thinking -- in this time of the year when we're stressing to find just the perfect gift for everyone on our list, and people are asking us what we want for Christmas -- what does make me happy? It seemed like a good exercise for Advent.

So, inspired by David's blog post, I, too, sat down and made a list. The first seven (and I didn't actually stop at 10, but went to 14) or so came to me quite easily, but I did have to put some thought into it. In no particular order (although I have numbered them in the order I came up with them), here is my list. Some are very silly, some are serious. And I found most of them have nothing to do with material things.

1: Reading a really good book and being in bookstores, especially of the used/secondhand variety (they just smell divine!).

2: Time spent in a cool, quiet chapel, for prayer and meditation, just me and Jesus in the tabernacle or monstrance.

3: Gift wrapping. I really love to wrap presents. I find it soothing, but I also love taking the time to wrap a gift beautifully to make a gift really special. I joke with my roommate, who is very into crafting, that gift wrapping is my way of being crafty.

4: Classic movie marathons and/or seeing classic films on the big screen.

5: The prospect of and packing for a trip, especially to someplace I've never been before, or to visit people I haven't seen in awhile.

6: These three songs. They will always turn my mood if I'm feeling like a sad sack: This one I danced around in my living room to as a little girl: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iPUmE-tne5U ; these next two remind me of high school: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tbNlMtqrYS0 ; and this one of college: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MXp413NynFk

7: Having a child, usually one of my godchildren, cuddle into my lap.

8: Dancing, although I don't do much of it these days.

9: Looking through old family pictures and letters/learning family stories and history.

10: Sitting in a darkened room, taking in the delicious evergreen-tree smell and just watching Christmas lights blink on and off. There's just something mesmerizing about it (this could lead people to think I'm easily distracted by shiny things...which I suppose that is sometimes the case) that appeals to my sense of wonder.

11: Changing into comfy clothes at the end of the work day.

12: Time spent with good friends.

13: Snuggling down into clean sheets.

14: Cool, fall, scarf-wearing weather.

So, what are some of the things that make you happy?

Faith, hope and Advent

We're lucky, as Catholics, to have two New Year's celebrations -- January first, like everyone else -- and our liturgical new year, which started yesterday with the first Sunday in Advent. So, Happy New Year!

Advent is my favorite part of the Church calendar. Yes, I love Lent, too, and need it every time it rolls around, but there's just something about Advent. As a child, the countdown of lighting the candles each week helped me mark how long it would be until Santa came, until I could stand in wonder before the sparkling tree on Christmas morning and gaze at the presents beneath.

Of course, now that I'm a grown up (well, more or less. Half the time I still feel about 12), I know that the birth of Christ is the real gift, that it was Mary's Fiat which began this journey to the coming birth of our Savior, and although His death and resurrection truly saved us, without His birth there would have been no sacrifice on the Cross.

But I still have that sense of wonder, that sense of hopeful expectation that Advent is all about. Only, instead of 'will I get that Cabbage Patch doll and the bike I asked for?' it is a renewal of God's care for me, a renewal that my faith will not be in vain. It's about waiting, patiently (or sometimes not so patiently) for what we want -- the desires of our heart -- and for God's will (which placed those desires there) to be made manifest.

One of my (many) favorite verses in the Bible is Hebrews 11:1: "Faith is the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen." We live, we pray, because we have hope and the faith to believe our hope will be realized. A few verses before that, though, St. Paul leads up to it with Hebrews 10: 35-37, 39: "Therefore, do not throw away your confidence; it will have great recompense. You need endurance to do the will of God and receive what he has promised. 'For, after just a brief moment, he who is to come shall come; he shall not delay.' ... We are not among those who draw back and perish, but among those who have faith and will possess life."

It is yet another reminder that our faith, our "confidence," in the Lord will not be in vain, even if that "brief moment" might seem a bit longer to us. And while we might not get that doll, or bike, or whatever else it is we want, Advent and the coming joys of Christmas remind us that God will never let us down, that our faith in Him will result in our eternal life, which is the best possible gift.

Or, to quote Pope Benedict XVI, who says it so much better (and more succinctly!):

"Faith is not merely a personal reaching out toward things to come that are still totally absent: it gives us something. It gives us even now something of the reality we are waiting for... Faith draws the future into the present, so that it is no longer simply a 'not yet.'"

My nerdy self ponders some historical what-if's

When I graduated from college, I earned a degree in English/Creative Writing and minors in business and Spanish. But if I had college to do all over again, I would probably major in history... or maybe both history and English, because I'm just that much of a nerd.

No, really, I am. I read a lot of history for fun. Sure, there are novels and poetry, short stories and spiritual reading (I'm in the midst of St. Augustine's "Confessions" right now), but there is a heavy lean toward history on my bookshelves. I think it stems largely from my parents. Although my dad is a retired attorney, his bachelor's degree is in history, and he has always been especially fascinated by the Civil War and WWII. As a result, I could name more WWII-era planes as a teenager than most, if not almost all, of my high school friends. And my mom's master's is in Latin American studies. I can still recall the sixth grade field trip that had something to do with anthropology where one of the guides asked if anyone knew the three major ancient tribes from Central and South America. I was the only one out of 30-odd students who could name the Maya, the Inca and the Aztec. The knowledge won me an arrowhead, which I still have somewhere.

The summer I was 13, I spent several weeks with my grandmother in Alabama. Bored out of my mind after about a week, and tired of fighting her for the TV remote, I decided to start writing a novel (see, nerdy!). Now, this wasn't a fictionalized account about the teenage angst of being stuck in Mobile with an elderly relative. Oh, no. I decided to write a novel set in Elizabethan England about a young woman who becomes a lady-in-waiting to Queen Elizabeth the I and all the drama, intrigue and romance that implies. Seriously, who does that? This girl. I even researched the era, diving into my grandmother's copy of  "The Riverside Shakespeare," which had a section on history and fashions of the time, complete with pictures. And I persuaded her to take me to the library, where I had her check out for me (a bit incredulously, I might add, since I remember her asking me repeatedly if I was sure I didn't want any of the books from the teen section) "The Kings and Queens of England and Scotland." I proceeded to read it cover to cover.

That longer-than-planned intro leads me to the (other) book I'm currently reading, "Sister Queens," about the lives of Katherine of Aragon, the first wife of Henry VIII, and her sister Juana, Queen of Castile, also commonly referred to as Juana the Mad because she allegedly carted her dead husband's coffined body around with her wherever she went (the author of the book contests that madness bit). Last night, about halfway through the book, I came to the point where Katherine and Henry had a son. One of her many pregnancies (there were six, and only one would result in a child who lived to adulthood, Mary), the boy was born healthy and baptized Henry, but sadly only lived 52 days.

Stick with me, I do have a point...

Since I ponder these random things, it got me thinking about what would have happened had the boy lived. Henry VIII, who was a devout Catholic, might never have abandoned his faith and divorced Katherine in his quest for a wife to give him a male heir, and therefore might never have separated England from the Church in his quest to marry Anne Boleyn (or married his four subsequent other wives, for that matter). How history would have been altered! England might have remained a Catholic country, and the Tudor dynasty might have continued on for generations. Monasteries and convents might not have been looted or destroyed, and, as there wouldn't have been an Elizabeth I, there wouldn't have been an Elizabethan period for me to research at 13. And of course it would have affected the world as a whole. Would America have been settled as quickly had there been fewer people seeking a new life and religious freedom on her shores, for example?

St. Thomas More

But then, too, we might have been denied so many of our saints. I know there are probably a number who are now saints or blesseds because they refused to apostatize (renounce their loyalty to the Church) and therefore lost their lives (I tried to figure out how many by Googling -- still nerdy over here) as the result of Henry VIII's actions, but the most famous, and the only one who immediately comes to mind, is St. Thomas More, a lawyer, writer (he authored "Utopia") and good friend of Henry who, despite that friendship and his otherwise complete loyalty to his sovereign, refused to sanction Henry's divorce out of greater love for the Church and was beheaded -- martyred -- as a result. He was canonized in 1935 and is the patron, among many things, of the Diocese of both Arlington and Pensacola-Tallahassee, adopted children, large families, lawyers and, appropriately considering that Tuesday is Election Day, of politicians and statesmen. His feast day is June 22.

So, while I can't even begin to grasp at God's ways (as they're not ours), I know without doubt that He had his reasons for that small baby dying in 1511, probably not the least of all being that we might not have St. Thomas More to intercede for us now, especially in regard to the presidential election. St. Thomas More, pray for us!

Dear Scholar and Martyr, it was not the King of England but you who were the true Defender of the Faith. Like Christ unjustly condemned, neither promises nor threats could make you accept a civil ruler as head of the Christian Church. Perfect in your honesty and love of truth, grant that lawyers and judges (and politicians!) may imitate you and achieve true justice for all people. Amen.

The Wedding File

My roommate and I have gotten into the habit of sticking invitations we receive on our refrigerator and then taking them down as the events occur. Between the two of us, at one point earlier this year, we had four save-the-date cards, several bridal showers, I think six wedding invitations, a birthday party invite and at least one baby shower. A few of them are still there. Our fridge (and I'm not talking just the front, but parts of each side, as well) was, and is, crowded.

Once the events are over with, though, we have different ways of handling these little bits of formality. My roommate tends to throw the invitations away. But I don't do that...at least not with the wedding invitations. This may sound completely ridiculous to you, but I put mine in what I've come to call The Wedding File.

I've had it for years now, stretching back to college. It's a blue accordion folder and it's filled (although not completely), with invitations I've received to the weddings of friends and family members over the years, along with some of the wedding programs. If I think a bridal shower invite is particularly neat, I might save it, too. A few good friend's baby announcements have also found a home there.

For example, my friend Marie sent out a pre-wedding events invitation for out-of-town guests that included a bowling night, and the invitation itself is a round bowling ball card. Liz's wedding program, in addition to listing members of the wedding party and the Mass parts, includes quotes about marriage and love from such disparate sources as Dr. Seuss and Pope John Paul II. Joe and Mary had a fall wedding, and their invitation is covered in bronze-colored leaves. The border on Amy's invitation are graceful raised calla lilies, the same flowers she carried as her bouquet. Some are very formal, printed on heavy cream-colored card stock. One or two, printed on home printers, reflect brides and grooms on a budget. Others are riots of colorful creativity. My friend Sabrina even printed her own postcard wedding invitations on the letterpress she stores in her garage.

I've saved them because, one day, if it's God's will, I might need to refer to them for ideas to help me put my own wedding invitation together. In fact, several friends have borrowed the file for reference purposes while planning their own weddings (in fact, after loaning The Wedding File to my best friend while she was planning her nuptials several years ago, I got it back with some extras: she'd inserted several invitations to weddings she'd been to).

A few days ago, though, after calling in my regrets to a bridal shower I can't attend (ironically, because it's the same day as a wedding I've already committed to) and almost immediately after mentally reminding myself to put the invitation into the file, I found myself thinking "You know, maybe I should just throw all those invitations out. I haven't needed them yet. Maybe I never will."

Later that night in talking to a friend (herself finalizing plans for her own wedding in the new year), I told her about my random thought. And she quickly said, "Oh, no, keep it! It will come in so handy." She went on to say she wished she'd had something like it. "Although, you know, if you do toss it, you might find you need it not too long afterwards." Laughing, I joked that I should put it in the garbage immediately, and maybe I'd meet someone sooner.

After a little bit of thought, though, I decided to keep it. Yes, I'm a bit of a pack rat (I'll admit, it runs in my family), and some people would probably tease me if they found out I had such a thing. And yes, at some point, possibly during a move, I will get rid of the file and it's contents. But in the mean time, the file is also a time capsule; a reminder of good times and friendships, some of very long standing. There's a little bit of regret, mixed in, for some of the friendships that have faded, but overall, the file is a representation of so much love. Keeping it appeals to my romantic, hopeful nature, and I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing. 

"What are you, then, my God?"

I've just started reading St. Augustine's Confessions, and although I'm not very far into it (four pages. I did say not very :) ), I am finding myself amazed, most particularly at this point by the following utterly contradictory yet beautiful description of God: 

"What are you, then, my God? What are you, I ask, but the Lord God? For who else is lord except the Lord, or who is god if not our God? You are most high, excellent, most powerful, omnipotent, supremely merciful and supremely just, most hidden yet intimately present, infinitely beautiful and infinitely strong, steadfast yet elusive, unchanging yourself though you control the change in all things, never new, never old, renewing all things yet wearing down the proud though they know it not; ever active, ever at rest, gathering while knowing no need, supporting and filling and guarding, creating and nurturing and perfecting, seeking although you lack nothing. You love without frenzy, you are jealous yet secure, you regret without sadness, you grow angry yet remain tranquil, you alter your works but never your plan; you take back what you find although you never lost it; you are never in need yet you rejoice in your gains, never avaricious yet you demand profits. You allow us to pay you more than you demand, and so you become our debtor, yet which of us possesses anything that does not already belong to you? You owe us nothing, yet you pay your debts; you write off our debts to you, yet lose nothing thereby."
                                                         - St. Augustine, Confessions, Book One 4,4.