Airplane Bungalow

I think everyone has a special place in their heart for the first place they lived truly on their own.  I can't think of the Airplane Bungalow on Roanoke without thinking of Phil.  A week ago I went to his going away party.  "Some Nights" by Fun. came on and the dance floor went a little crazy.  Brie said, "Remember Phil and Bob dancing to this in your kitchen?"

Instantly I got flooded with nostalgia.  Of course I remember dancing in the kitchen, because it was huge and we always had a sink full of dirty dishes that could only get washed if the right music was on.  When we moved out, I cleaned the bottom cabinets for the first time and found the hole to the outside that the mice were using for transport.  Doesn't take away from how awesomely huge that kitchen was.

I worked nights in that house, so Phil would sometimes wake up in the morning and come downstairs to find me asleep at the dining room table.  Our basement was as scary as the one in Home Alone and you never knew what kind of Westport riffraff was going to walk down the sidewalk talking to himself.  We had a study, a conservatory, and a library (WITH BUILT IN BOOKSHELVES), and a porch couch.  You may think having a porch couch signifies white trash, but we would heartily disagree.  Porch couch means perfect summer nights with friends and beverages.  

I learned a lot about being a grown-up (when I wanted to be) in that house.  And when I moved out, I think life got a little more serious.  But what I miss most is not the house, but Phil.  I couldn't have asked for a more perfect roommate and friend.  After moving to our new homes, I didn't get to see him nearly as much as I wanted to.  But so many of my good memories from that time in my life have him in there somewhere.  He is one of the MOST talented people I think I will ever meet, and I'm so proud of him for working his ass off and getting after his dreams.  He and Mandy will have wonderful adventures, and they are going to be in my thoughts and prayers often.  

Best of luck, old friend.  Your city misses you already.

Waiting.

This summer I found out that God has an English accent and is into banjos.

Well, I came home

Like a stone

And I fell heavy into your arms

These days of dust

Which we've known

Will blow away with this new sun

It took very little time of dating Sean to realize he was "husband material."  I mean...do you know him?  Duh.  I got to the point where I couldn't imagine anyone else when I started daydreaming about marriage and family.  It wasn't something we were talking about much, but I figured it was just a matter of time.  Two very good friends of mine got engaged within 2 months of each other, and then wedding season 2013 hit (aka we attended 3 weddings in one summer).  All of the sudden I had a lot to think about.  As happy as I was for all of these couples, sometimes my female heart got ugly-jealous and worried.  After some serious talks with Sean and my new spiritual director, I realized I had some prayin' to do.

But I'll kneel down,

Wait for now

And I'll kneel down

Know my ground

I had never really prayed about my vocation before.  Catholic girls are always told to do this, but I kind of ignored it.  Or I just prayed for my future husband...because I was OBVIOUSLY called to marriage.  I mean, all NORMAL girls get married.  It just wasn't a question.  But now, maybe...it was?  For so long I had just been telling God what I wanted and praying for it to happen someday.  I didn't do much listening (ok, like no listening).  I set about praying a 30-day novena (is it still called a novena if it's not a multiple of 9?  whatever) to St. Joseph...because he had the best marriage that there ever was, and it started with some big time discernment.  I was sure at the end of it that God would have a huge unmistakable way of telling me what was going to happen, and I only gave him two options: green light or red light.  Obviously I preferred the former.  I desperately wanted to know what His will was for me, and I knew what I wanted it to be.

And I will wait, I will wait for you

I will wait, I will wait for you        

So I settled in to wait.  And I started hearing this song a LOT, like almost every day on the radio.  It had been almost a year since it had been released as a single, so that was odd.  I had always had a love affair bordering on obsession with Mumford & Sons, and that song especially.  I loved what I thought was a purity message, but was clearly even more than that.  So I slowly started to get the idea that God was telling me to be patient.  And the test was difficult.  He used my spiritual director to whip me into shape with self-discipline and a structured prayer life, and I just kept messing it up and having to start over.

So break my step

And relent

Well, you forgave and I won't forget

Know what we've seen

And him with less

Now in some way shake the excess

The last day of my novena came.  I went to a weekday Mass and knelt in front of a St. Joseph statue afterwards to say it for the last time.  I just knew something big was going to happen...it HAD to.  Over the past 30 days, God had trained me to trust Him more and more and I was so confident that my prayer for clarity would be answered.  So I said the prayer and waited.  Nothing.  I looked around the sanctuary of St. Agnes.  No banners or angel choirs announcing anything.  Disappointed, but not quite giving up, I walked out to my car.  I turned the key in the ignition and the radio came on.  Guess what song was starting from the very beginning?  Yep.

'Cause I will wait, I will wait for you

I cried.  I knew exactly what it meant...that God was answering my prayer, but He refused to be boxed into my multiple choice answers.  He was showing me His faithfulness but continuing to stretch me.  I just had to keep waiting, and trusting.  I took it as encouragement to keep praying.  Slowly, so slowly I didn't realize it was happening, I began to have peace.  I remembered a priest saying once that the purpose of prayer is not to conform the will of God to ours, but to conform our hearts to His.  My own will was changing.  By the end of the summer, I was more interested in following Him, wherever that might be, than I was in getting the answers I thought I needed so badly.  I realized that this period of learning to trust was incredibly important; precious, even.  Something just between me and God.  God was pulling me closer to Him to remind me that He would always be first, no matter my vocation.

Now I'll be bold

As well as strong

And use my head alongside my heart

So tame my flesh

And fix my eyes

A tethered mind free from the lies

So when September 1st came, that perfect day, my heart was ready.  My answer was completely free from fleeting emotions and was grounded in the hard work that had already been done.  Sean asking was the final sign I needed.  God took my dream and made it better...because marrying Sean is part of His dream for us.  And it's only the beginning :)

When Nurses Do Magic

Working in pediatric rehab is really tough sometimes.  (Note: not drug rehab, but physical rehab).  We take care of patients who, for whatever reason, need help with walking, talking, and regular activities of living...things that were once easy but are now the most challenging tasks in the world.  Many have been in car accidents, some have had tumors removed from their brain or spine, others are just weak from laying in a critical care bed for weeks on end.

So...they do work.  Really hard work.  They're doing therapy for up to 6 hours a day, which is often painful and exhausting.  They hate their meds, and they especially hate the feeding tubes that go through their nose.  The nurses challenge them to eat and drink more than they feel like they can, get up and walk to the bathroom when they would rather stay in bed, wear uncomfortable braces, do exercises, and so much more.  Every day is a struggle of s-l-o-w progress.  Often, patients are discharged home in a wheelchair with lots of assistance set up at home, and outpatient therapies as often as 5 days a week.  So at that point...we are just hoping they continue to improve, but we nurses don't usually know what happens to them.

Unless they come back to the unit to visit!  These are some of my all-time favorite moments of being a nurse.  A magical transformation has happened and this former patient is now a regular kid (or much closer on their way) who runs and laughs and fondly recounts stories of their inpatient days.  Recently a patient came back to visit, and I literally did not recognize the child.  (Forgive my awkward absence of gender-specific pronouns...can't be violating any federal laws now).  The kiddo looked at me and said, "You're the nurse who cut off my bracelet!"  I actually only cared for this child for one day, but it was the best day of their whole hospital stay - the day they got to go home.  Apparently, this former patient will always remember the nurse from that day, even though I barely remembered the patient.  

I think that's nursing in a nutshell.  We do the same interventions for patients over and over, tasks that mean very little to us...but they're everything to someone else.  Pulling out my little bandage scissors to make a snip on a plastic bracelet?  No big deal.  But for this child, that small act represented a huge achievement, winning a battle that literally took months to fight.

Of course...I cannot perform magic.  How blessed I am to be the Lord's handmaid as He performs His healing work through my small actions.

Hope in suffering.

The question has been posed - "What has happened to our country?"  As in...this is not us.  Americans don't do this.  Life doesn't work this way.  We felt like this after Newtown, and Aurora, and Columbine, and all those other phrases that mean so much more than geography now.  But I also felt like this pretty recently because of some sad strife in my family.  I thought, "this isn't my family.  This happens to other families, but not ours."  Both of those sentiments are prideful.  Since when am I too good to suffer?  Jesus Christ didn't even get to escape suffering as the Son of God.  In fact, He showed us how it's to be done.

I don't know if there is more evil present in the world than before.  Evil will pervade wherever sin abounds, and sin is a constant in our human history.  But I do think our country is young.  Yes, these events are new and shocking and terrible for us.  I don't at all mean to diminish the magnitude of what has happened or the grief that is rightly being felt, but...in so many other parts of the world, this would just be par for the course.  Countries that are ravaged by war, who reconcile only to be ripped apart by another.  Cities decimated by illness or famine.  Entire cultures that are built around fear.  Rwanda, Bosnia, Darfur, Poland, Vietnam, Russia, the Holy Land, Mexico City...these are just some places I can think of that either now or in the last century have suffered.

To suffer is to go without.  All over the world, people go without clean water, adequate food and housing, health, basic freedoms, security, their loved ones.  I am far too comfortable.  I do not know how to go without, because I have never had to.  As a nation we are wealthy, healthy (as in free of disease), and well cared for.  Maybe these tragedies of violence cut us especially deeply because we are not used to suffering (and because losing loved ones is arguably the most difficult kind).

I don't have answers here.  Suffering continues as long as evil exists in the world.  But I have one small idea.  What if, to magnify our prayers for those who are suffering (because there are always going to be those who need them), we go without in order to suffer in solidarity with them?  Fasting is an incredibly powerful tool for growing closer to God because we are denying our selfish desires (not just food, but anything else that would be a sacrifice) and saying "yes" to Him.  It's like stretching spiritual muscles - painful but necessary.  I believe we can also grow closer to each other if we are suffering for their sake.  We are all one in the Body of Christ, after all.  So let's pray for Boston this week, but maybe also skip a few meals, or give up dessert/Facebook/a TV show/something comfortable...and offer it up for those who are suffering on the East coast, in our own families, and around the world.  Fasting is NOT just for Lent!

More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit which has been given to us.
(Romans 5:3-5)

See that?!  Suffering leads to hope.  Just the thing we've been wondering how to find.

Prodigal Daughter

Sometimes I feel the need to be praised for things like...showering before work.  Remembering to put the trash out.  Getting my oil changed.  These things mean I am a grown-up, right?  Where is the gold star on my sticker chart?

It has been hitting me hard for some reason lately that I am nearing 3 years of being a nurse.  I am even closer to my 3-year anniversary of no longer being a student.  That just can't be right.  Somehow, I am in my mid twenties.  I don't feel that old, and certainly not that mature.  Shouldn't I still have someone managing me?

Today I realized I have broken nearly all of my Lenten promises at least once.  I don't normally use Sundays as a "cheat day," but I sure did today (I ate sweets, got on Facebook, and I'm up past 10 on a work night).  I was a bit ambitious, choosing to be hard on myself this year.  I needed the stretching.  I am unable to control the expedient passing of time but by gosh I can control my diet, my sleep schedule, my internet usage.  Wrong.

It was good to hear the parable of the Prodigal Son at Mass this evening.  This morning I almost skipped reading it with the others.  It was just the Gospel the other day, and I've read it so many times, right?  But I did again, and what struck me this time was the father running to meet his son with open arms.  No, "I told you so," no scolding or resentment.  Just overwhelming love.  Just an opportunity to become a "new creation," as we heard in the epistle.

Monday is a good day for starting over.  Let's try this again tomorrow, God.

The Unveiling

Today, I got to daily Mass early.  I wish I could say this is the norm, but in fact I had an hour to kill after a meeting at work.  I decided to just head to Good Counsel and spend the time in prayer, reading, and most importantly reconciliation before Mass.  As always, I found myself wondering what I ever do that's more important than getting to Mass early (or on time).  Ugh.

So the Blessed Sacrament was exposed before Mass, but just before it began, the veil in front of the Eucharist was closed.  I felt a little pang of sadness, like "ok, bye Jesus"...but then I caught myself.  What I would be doing in 30 minutes was even more awesome than adoring Him.  Then it struck me, a thought that surely a whole bunch of much smarter and more eloquent theologians before me have already come up with: God veils what is special to Him in preparation for something to come.  (Actually, I did get that idea from Alice von Hildebrand's The Privilege of Being a Woman, but I have more).  Two examples came to mind.  The first is that the bride is veiled during the wedding ceremony until she and the groom become husband and wife.  You don't see the blusher veil so much anymore but I swoon when it's used in movies...that moment when the man lifts the veil away from his beloved's face and gazes upon her as his bride for the first time.  So good.

The other example I suppose is a bit more abstract.  But I was able to shed new light on desolations - God seemingly removing Himself from a faithful person during certain periods of his or her life.  St. John of the Cross called it the "dark night of the soul."  Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta experienced an absence of God for years at the end of her life.  WHY would a loving God do such a thing?!  Today I recalled for the first time in several years a really great confession I had when I was 21.  I was confiding my doubts about God's love because I felt like He didn't have a plan for me.  This wise young priest told me that sometimes God removes Himself from your life when He is preparing you for great love.  This greatly comforted me when I was feeling forsaken, and I'm glad I remembered it today.

So our Lord is veiled, whether that be within a gold tabernacle or behind a simple veil, during the celebration of the Mass because we aren't ready to receive Him yet.  We must first confess our sinfulness, hear His Word proclaimed, offer our gifts and our whole selves with them, present our petitions to our generous God, and make ourselves present at His Son's sacrifice on Calvary.  After proclaiming that we are not worthy to receive Jesus in His true flesh and blood...then, finally, does God make us ready.  Never do we actually become worthy, but God grants humility to those who beg it of Him.

In the eternal wedding feast, the roles are reversed.  Our unveiled Lord gives of Himself to us, His bride.  And that gift is His love...the love He seems to withhold on those dark nights.  We need only to come to Him in the Eucharist to receive it.

Freedom is...here?

This Gospel reading really struck me at a Mass I went to last week...and all I've done since is work so I'm just now getting around to this.  First of all, I have to point out that this is one of those passages immediately following the disciples suffering minor concussions and loss of IQ points.  Only those cool action sequences are never included, just the pathetic aftermath.  I love when they ask idiotic questions or answer questions in an idiotic way.  On the one hand, it's funny.  God must have laughed when it first happened, and I still do.  But more importantly, the disciples aren't any dumber than we are.  In fact, they usually have a lot more going on than we ever do.  It is refreshing to see them getting it wrong sometimes, despite the person of Christ actually walking and breathing in their midst.  Check this out:

³¹ To the Jews who believed in him Jesus said: If you make my word your home you will indeed be my disciples;³² you will come to know the truth, and the truth will set you free.  ³³ They answered, 'We are descended from Abraham and we have never been the slaves of anyone; what do you mean, "You will be set free?"  ³⁴ Jesus replied: In all truth I tell you, everyone who commits sin is a slave.  ³⁵ Now a slave has no permanent standing in the household, but a son belongs to it forever.  ³⁶ So if the Son sets you free, you will indeed be free.”

I've never heard (or more likely, never paid attention to) the Jews' response.  What a perfect way to depict our generation.  Because we don't see ourselves as slaves, we can't understand freedom.  I think I have everything I need to survive, including free will, so how could I possibly be a slave?  By most definitions, I live in the "free-est" society in the world.  I started making choices based upon nothing but my own whims as a child, and as an adult I have the power to change anything I might not like about my life.  I feed and clothe myself and pay my own rent.  I allocate the precious moments of my time somewhat evenly between obligations and pleasure.  I know my future is an array of unopened doors to be selected at my disposal.  I have never been the slave of anyone.

Wrong.  I am enslaved by so much.  I am a slave to myself.  I am a slave to how I want to look, what I want others to think of me.  I am a slave to the time that I think is my own.  I am a slave to this body which I did not create, nor do I get to keep.  I am a slave to the imperfections I pin on others, the grudges I refuse to release, and the pride that makes me think I'm better than them in the first place.  I am a slave to stereotypes, assumptions, and judgments.  I am a slave to my spiritual weakness that makes me choose sleep over prayer, silence over action in the face of injustice, my convenience over someone else's pain.  As this Gospel said, I am a slave because I sin.  All those many moments of my life when I felt I had no control over my actions?  That's because sin did.  With all the free will that I take so much delight in, I choose to let sin in...over and over and over until my wrecked body, mind and spirit are caught beneath the lash, upon the rack.  But when the pricks of sin start to get through and actually register as pain, do I recognize that and run into the arms of the One who already died to wipe my sin away?  No.  I wait until I am laid bare and bleeding, when it is almost too late...then I fall to my knees before my Savior to beg for the mercy that was already freely given.

And I still do not do this enough.  We never do.  Sin has its cold, choking hands wrapped around our society and pretty much everyone in it.  Spiritually, Mother Teresa found Americans to be the poorest, loneliest people she'd ever met.  Her sick and starving Indians had more joy in their simple lives than we'll ever know.  Our society is dominated by sex, instant gratification, an eye for an eye, and enormous, readily-injured pride.  Freedom?!  Every so-called "choice" we make is influenced by our bodily needs, the never subtle messages of media, the opinions of fellow sinners.  

We have completely interchanged the definition of freedom for the definition of bondage.  We will never understand the true freedom that comes from Christ's sacrifice until we realize how tightly we are already bound by the things of this world.  It's a mighty good thing we have the most patient Teacher to show us how to clear that up.  In fact, He gave us 40 days to do just that.