A Harmonium Project Meeting in Leonardo's Coffee Shop

They filter in and greet each other, ordering their hot and frothy drinks at the bar.

One man is dressed in a white button-down, black pants over black socks and shoes...and a bright orange stocking cap. Another looks Chestertonian, with round spectacles, portly figure, and flattened curls. Some others are tall. And there's a single woman in a purple t-shirt.

A band of eight-strong crowded around a table, reminiscent of The Bird and Baby.

Culture matters. Let's resurrect our town.

Only in America

A thunderstorm passes by late Friday afternoon. I am forced to pause my work because the storm is so close and violent that it kills the internet for ten minutes.

Time to eat my muffin.

On a tired rainy afternoon, there's nothing like a warm muffin with the chocolate chips melty on your fingers so that you have to lick them when you're done eating. My conversation with my mom floats back to me as the seconds count down on the microwave.

"I made chocolate chip zucchini muffins this weekend," I told her.

She chuckled. "Only in America do we turn leftover vegetables into baked goods..."

Field Notes vol. 5: Procrastination, IKEA, & New Sewing Project

Something Ironic: Procrastination Leads to...

Being in the right place at the right time? 

Last week, I put off two errands I needed to run, figuring that I could do them later. Then the errands both turned into an opportunity to do something helpful for a friend.  I was able to take a load of donations to Goodwill for some friends who were moving, along with my items, saving them a trip when they were crunched for time. And when I finally ventured to Walmart to buy paper towels and a few other cleaning supplies, I was also able to pick up a back brace for a friend whose back was hurting. So that was cool. God used my procrastination to benefit others. How ironic is that?

Something New: IKEA

A friend and I went into IKEA for the first time ever this Saturday, but since we were unfamiliar with the layout of the store, we ended up going around it backwards. 

If you aren't familiar with IKEA, everyone is supposed to enter through the same door and follow the arrows on the floor through the entire store, until you get to the checkout line. Well, we skipped the actual store and went to the "self-serve furniture" area first. That's the warehouse section where you pick up your box of self-assemble furniture after you've already seen it on display. Yep. 

Eventually, my friend and I found our way to the display area of the store, which we enjoyed, but we were the rebels going against the flow the whole time. No marketing traps for us!

The trip ended up being quite productive, since my friend has been planning to upgrade a few things in her living room for a little while. We found some awesome coordinating pillows, lamps, and a cube shelf within her budget!

My Next Sewing Project: Coral Linen Dress

Here's a sneak peek at my next sewing project, a coral dress that I've been thinking about making for at least a year and a half. Now I have the fabric, a medium weigh Irish linen. Next step, wash and pre-shrink the fabric!

My goal is to finish this project by mid-September so that I can wear it to a wedding. That might be a bit ambitious, depending on how picky I decide to get about fit. We'll see.

A Great Piece of Advice

"God's plan included you, so make sure your plan includes God." Words of wisdom from a friend's dad. Amen to that.

Field Notes Vol. 4: Realizations

Something I've Realized: I'm Too Polite

This past week I attended a young adult event in Pittsburgh. There were about 50-75 people there and, after a short talk, there was ample time to mingle, buy drinks and snacks, and hang out. Well, someone I already knew started talking to me and, instead of politely moving on when the conversation turned one-sided, I stood there and pretended to keep listening. I kept thinking I should walk away from that group, but I wasn't sure how to do that. I wasn't assertive enough to do that. 

So it was a good reminder that I need to work on my mingling skills, particularly the art of gracefully exiting a conversation I no longer want to be part of. Here's to being polite, but not too polite!

Something I'm Thinking About: Holiness Is Ordinary

Speaking of that young adult event, the talk was about Pope Francis' most recent apostolic exhortation Gaudete et Exsultate, which I read a few months ago. The talk was a good refresher and gave me some food for thought this week, specifically this idea: that holiness is found in doing our ordinary tasks more perfectly.

It is hard sometimes to be attentive to the ordinary things, so this definitely presents a challenge. For example, I need to focus more on my real work instead of being distracted by checking email. I need to take the time to prepare a good meal for myself instead of rushing to do more activities. I need to be present to God during my prayer time instead of letting my thoughts chatter endlessly.

Yet, I also find a lot of hope in this idea. It means I am already on the right path. I don't have to grasp at something more or different. No, I simply have to do what I am already doing with God and for God. And that's great! I can do that.

Something I'm Trying NOT to Do: Cram Too Much In

Almost every second of every day, I am making a list. I have to-do lists, to-buy lists, to-plan lists, to-schedule lists, to-tell-people lists, parties-to-host lists, books-to-read lists, and the list goes on... 

Can anyone relate to this? Seriously, it feels like my mind is a never-ending whirlpool of things I need, should, could, want, dream, plan to do. Most of the time, I can effectively channel this energy, but every once in a while I try to cram too much in, to get too much done in one day, or to schedule too much in a single week. And that's not good, because then my calendar becomes my to-do list and it's harder to be present, because after this, I'm on to the next thing...

So I am trying to pace myself. Am I doing a good job at that? Well, I did decide today to procrastinate on taking the recycling out and dropping some donations at Goodwill. I guess that counts as pacing myself.

Field Notes Vol. 3: Ordinary Time

Something Old: Sunday Brunch

My favorite family tradition is having brunch together after Mass on Sunday. Although I wonder if I should even call it a tradition because it is so informal. We just come home from Mass, cook something yummy, and linger at the table after we're through, chatting and laughing.

Even as a single person, I maintain this tradition most weekends by either having brunch with friends or taking the time to cook a nice meal for myself. It is a good reminder to me that each Sunday is a little feast, a time to rejoice and celebrate the gifts Our God has blessed me with. 

How do you celebrate Sunday? 

Something New: My Porch Garden

After two summers of wanting to grow something, I finally created a mini garden on my back porch! It's pretty simple, because I didn't make a plan or build any planters or start seedlings. I just went to Lowe's, bought a few herbs, a flower, and a tomato plant on sale, and put everything in old pots I'd collected. A co-worker also gave me a few extra plants she didn't need for the landscaping at work; those went along nicely with the red dahlia I bought.

Most days, I eat breakfast and dinner on my porch. My new garden is a cheery addition to that space.

Something I Finished: Josephine Blouse

The blouse I posted about a few weeks ago is finished! Last weekend, I looked at the unfinished blouse laying on my sewing table and said to myself, "You're so close. Why don't you just finish it?" And then I did. It took me about an hour to attach the cuffs and redo the neckline finish that I was having trouble with.

It's hard to take a selfie in the mirror...

As the first sewing project I've done for myself in a long time, I'm happy with how it turned out. Plus, the pattern was simple and easy to follow. The pattern maker, Rae, includes super simple directions for different seam finishes, which I wasn't familiar with before this project. Seam finishes are so much easier than I thought!!! Sure, it adds a little extra time to the construction process to finish all the seams, but it is worth it because all of the raw edges are enclosed and then the garment looks professional inside and out.

I would definitely make the Josephine Blouse again, but I might try the next size up. I made the XS for this version and it is just a little snug under the arms. Not uncomfortably so, but enough that I'd like to try the S next time and see if the fit is better.

Something Worth It: Taking Communion to the Nursing Home

Once a month, I take Holy Communion to two nearby nursing homes. I have to get up early on Sunday to go to the 8:30 Mass, but it is so worth it! The thirty people I visit make me smile. Here are a few scenes from my visit last weekend.

If it's possible, I like to sit down next to the person I'm with while we pray the short prayers before Holy Communion. But sometimes, I have to squat next to their chair or bed instead. After Tillie received Holy Communion, I stood up again and this was her reaction: "Wow, you're tall! You should go to Pittsburgh and be a model!" 

At Ruth's room, I knocked on the open door before going in. "Who is knocking?" she said, a bit grumpy until I told her that I was there with Holy Communion. "Oh yes. Do I know you?" I remind her that I've been there before and tell her it is good to see her sitting in a wheelchair instead of in bed. 

And then there is Michael, a man of great prayer, who never forgets to tell me, "Thank you for bringing Jesus to me." 

Field Notes Vol. 2: Camping Trip, 5k Club, and More

Something Relaxing: Canoeing and Camping in the Boundary Waters

Last week, I went with some friends on a canoeing and camping trip in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area (BWCA). The BWCA is a canoe-only wilderness area that borders Minnesota and Canada. This was my first backcountry camping trip and I really enjoyed it! 

Look! I caught a fish! 

Being on the water every day, fishing, taking naps in my hammock, hanging out by our campfire, and spending a whole week outside was refreshing for my soul. I feel more relaxed and focused than I have been in a while. Plus, being away from my regular activities for a while always gives me a better perspective. 

Something New: Steubenville 5K Club

This morning I was able to check out a new activity: Steubenville's 5K Club! I came across the Facebook group a month or two ago, but wasn't able to make it to any of the runs until this morning. The group runs twice a week: Wednesday evenings and Saturday mornings. Each week the route changes to cover a new part of the city, which is a super fun way to explore! 

It was good to get out of the house and get a run in, since I haven't been running much in the last two weeks. Vacation threw me out of routine. I'm ready to get going again and meet some new people along the way.

Something I'm Reading: Wise Blood by Flannery O'Connor

Actually, I finished this book on Thursday evening, but here we go. Wise Blood is one of two novels by Flannery O'Connor. Because of her Gothic style and unattractive (but very human) characters, Flannery is an acquired taste. Many people don't like reading her stories. But I've always found them interesting, so I thought I'd give this novel a try.

In the foreword to the book, O'Connor describes it as a "comic novel." The word comic is deceptive; the book is not funny, but quite serious. It's a comedy in the sense that it has a happy ending, not a tragic one. By the end of the book, the main character seems to finally understand the impact of his sins and the need to do penance for them. 

Here's one passage I love that shows O'Connor's master craftsmanship and wry sense of humor. Watch for the punch line at the end. 

"The black sky was underpinned with long silver streaks that looked like scaffolding and depth on depth behind it were thousands of stars that all seemed to be moving very slowly as if they were about some vast construction work that involved the whole order of the universe and would take all time to complete. No one was paying any attention to the sky." 

Something Precious: A Flower

As I was coming into the coffee shop to write this blog post, a little girl handed me a purple petunia. I'm pretty sure she picked it off of the potted plant on the sidewalk! But still, the unexpected gift brought me joy. It's the little things!

Leaky Faucet

There's a man I know who is like my leaky kitchen faucet. Sometimes, when least expected, he dribbles pure emotion, water falling into the half-full glass below. What to do with that? Know he cares and move on.

Watching My Friend Be a Father

Smiling baby eyes, quick heartbeat, dimpled cheeks, shrill laughter. Up, swinging over his head and launched—just for a moment—into thin air, before bouncing back down into safe hands, loving arms. Realize, little one, that I will always catch you.

When I Come Home from Work

When I come home from work and turn up the heat, the house stretches and yawns, like an old woman waking up from a nap in her rocking chair when her grown-up child lets himself in the back door.

Not Your Normal Trip to the Grocery Store

Today, instead of driving to the grocery store to pick up an onion for my chili and some salad for this week’s lunches, I spontaneously decided to walk there. I know. That’s not a normal person move; but, the weather was nice, the grocery story is only about a mile from my house, the neighborhoods are safe, and I’m young…so why not?

The walk there was dandy. Nothing to report.

As I was returning from the story with a string-pack on my back and a cloth bag full of groceries in each hand, I was thinking, “I must look ridiculous…people will think that I’m a bum…that I don’t belong in this part of town….” Then suddenly, “There are people who do this everyday.” 

It’s true. There are thousands of people in the world—probably more—who have no other means of transportation other than their own two legs. They don’t have a car, and they are not able to access a bus or train system, or they might be too poor to afford it. They have to walk anywhere they want to go. They walk to work, walk to the grocery, walk to church, walk to the library, walk to the pool, walk to everywhere. I am sure people get used to it eventually, but that still takes dedication in a world that is constantly zooming around past you.

I began to think about how not having a car to drive would affect me. I have a 20-minute commute one-way to work, so if I didn’t have a car, I wouldn’t have my job. I couldn’t have my job. It would be too far away from where I live for me to walk, and no bus could get me there (or anywhere close).

As I was walking and thinking about this, I felt a sense of solidarity with those who are forced by their circumstances to walk wherever they need or want to go.

Solidarity is not a new idea or experience for me. After all, that was part of what my time living and working in a maternity home was all about. Most of the moms had to walk, or ask friends for rides, before they came to live at the home. (Once they got there, we were able to provide them with bus passes, thanks to a grant.) I felt like I was really experiencing a small part of their lives—and others’ lives—by walking, even if it was only for this one trip.

It was good to be reminded of people other than myself and what their experience of life is like. My circumstances truly are a blessing.

On Being Content

It’s fascinating which conversations stick with you and drift around in your thoughts for a while.

A few weeks ago, when I was talking to a friend on the phone, she asked me, “Are you content?” Her question was timely. The week before that, I had begun to realize that nothing in my life was broken. Rather, everything was quite alright; so, I had no reason to be discontent. Instead, I decided, I have every reason to be grateful for the people and circumstances that are currently part of my life.

Both my friend and I were beginning to understand that we can have sunny sky days and disastrous Jonah days, feel elated and downtrodden, and still be content with our lives. As human beings, we have the ability to exist at a place within ourselves that is deeper and more foundational than our emotions. Although our emotions are legitimate reactions to our circumstances, they are immediate and fleeting. We always need to take them with a grain of salt, so to speak. This has been an important lesson for me.

So, that’s why my friend asked, “Are you content?” She saw that my answer would tell her more about my life than my current emotional reaction.

The answer is: yes, I am content. My lifestyle is simple, but I have a great deal of freedom, since I only have myself to take care of right now. My job challenges me to learn about and try many styles of writing—from administrative memos, to marketing emails, to event ads. The people I work with are striving to know God and do His will. I have two fantastic housemates who make me laugh, put up with my occasional grouchiness and my tidying spurts, and love great music. (The Oh Hellos, anyone?) My friends live all over the country, but they are just a phone call (or plane ride) away. I have met some new people over the past month or two, and I am hopeful that new friendships will develop in time. I’ve gotten comfortable with being at home in the evening and doing nothing but knitting while watching TV.

Most importantly, I am content—or rather, at peace—with my relationship with the Lord. When I can’t sense His presence, it can be tempting to think that I’ve gotten something wrong, or that I need to fix our relationship by trying some other devotion or prayer. But I don’t think that’s what He actually wants. In those times, I think He asks me to trust that He is still leading me.

Prayer is a gift from Him. So, whether I am distracted or bleary-eyed, I am thankful that He gives me the grace to make my effort to be with Him each day. And I am content to wait until He reveals Himself to me.

“For God alone my soul waits in silence; from Him comes my salvation.” –Psalm 62:1

Virtue of Victory

I used to consider myself a patient person, but no more.

Over the past six months, I’ve been through multiple transitions­­—leaving a volunteer program, moving three times, starting a new job—and each of these circumstances tested my patience in a different way. When leaving the volunteer program, I was impatient because I could not talk about the transition and didn’t know when it would happen. Lack of response to dozens of job applications left me wondering if I would just have to work at Taco Bell. My new job suits me, but during the beginning weeks I found myself often frustrated that I didn’t know how to access necessary information, where to get mailing labels, and who could answer questions about which project. 

Perhaps these circumstances are not worth losing patience over, but I frequently did. (And I still am. I was impatient over a project I was working on yesterday, because someone had decided to edit it before I was finished.) The waiting, the frustrations, made me uncomfortable and I wanted to speed the process up. I wanted an immediate answer. 

These transitions and my feeling impatient have led me to think about what it truly means to be patient. Merriam Webster Dictionary defines patient as: “able to remain calm and not become annoyed when waiting for a long time or when dealing with problems or difficult people.” Patient people never lose their inner peace. They realize that everything will work out in the end.

Patience seems linked to perseverance. Delays, difficulties, and disasters will happen, but patient people keep going in spite of all that. They wait for the plant to grow, the rain to come, the consolation to whisper peace. If the answer doesn’t come when they expect it or if a difficulty appears in their path, they persevere in calm. Eventually, the waiting ends and the patient have gained all that they waited for.  

Patience is victory.

It's Okay to Lose the Baggage

Sheets of kindergarten-ruled writing paper with misshapen letters; a shakily traced hand-turkey; certificates of achievement from dance, gymnastics, and cross country; birthday cards, first communion cards, graduation cards; a newspaper clipping showing a piano performance—these are a few of the souvenirs of my twenty-three years on this planet.

We all have keepsakes like this—that one drawer in our desks that we shove papers into and never clean out until it is overflowing, a box in the back of our closet, the knickknacks cluttering our dresser—and still we save more clippings, cards, and curios. It is overwhelming. I am here to ask: Why do we do this?

There are many reasons. A particular drawing holds value because we liked who we were when we made it. Or an object of no significance to someone else—like a pop tab with glued-on googly eyes—reminds us of an inside joke shared with a high school best friend. Programs, ticket stubs, and amusement park maps stack up on our bookshelves because we enjoyed those experiences. Wistfully, we pack these tokens away, perhaps hoping that we will preserve the past by doing so. What really happens is that we forget about the items, pack them away in some dark closet, and flip through the filing cabinets of our minds when we want to relive a memory.

It is true that from time to time we do need physical reminders of various aspects of our lives. This is why we hang photographs of our family members and friends around our homes or write a grocery list before going to the store. However, it becomes impossible and impractical to keep a material item from every single event in our past, even of all the important events. Keeping all of those papers and trinkets would overwhelm us with clutter.

Saying goodbye to these remnants of our past is healthy, since as we grow in maturity, we put those immature ways behind us. Freeing ourselves from the clutter of the past liberates us to live more fully in the present. We will remember the events of our lives, as they remain in our minds and hearts, but we are less tempted to dwell there. There is also an entirely practical element to decluttering: We have fewer boxes to move if we relocate and valuable storage space becomes available.

Finally, when it comes down to the crux, the whole of our experience is contained within our persons and material items cannot fully express that experience to another. I have seen this in the knickknacks and papers my parents have had to sort through after my grandparents’ deaths. Some are interesting to look at for their historical significance, but others—old grade reports, high school diplomas, snapshots of old friends—lose their meaning in the absence of the person who treasured them. My grandmother’s papers express barely a sliver of who she was.

Should we throw away everything that reminds us of the past then? Not necessarily. But we should think about what to keep and choose only what is most important.* Don’t be afraid to throw away (or recycle) the rest. It's okay to lose the baggage.

 

*Some questions to ask yourself:

Will I look at that (card, paper, program, map) again? 

Does this item remind me of the best version of myself?   

Would my grandchild want to keep this? 

Rain At The End Of February

As I write this, the rain is a steady drizzle outside. It hasn’t rained this much since November. I keep returning to the image of a garden when I think of my heart, mind, and soul—that good fruits must be carefully cultivated in those fertile places—and the rain reminds me of that this morning. Rain is a necessity for the garden. Water hydrates the seedlings and helps them to grow stronger.

We too have times of rain in our lives, where nothing seems to be going as planned and all of our preconceived notions about where we will be, what we will do, and who we are wash away. I am in one of those rainy seasons now. Only six weeks ago, I expected to be living in Cleveland until August, making new friends in the area, and looking for a new job come June, or maybe even July. Instead, I am at home and looking for a job now. In February. And it is raining. My expectations for the next six months have washed away.

If the rain did not fall, though, what reasons would we have to grow and change? When would we be challenged to sink our roots deeper in the soil? How else would we be forced to consider that we are not in control? The rain may startle us, but it reminds us to consider these questions and not to settle for a shallowly rooted existence.

For me, and I hope for you, the rainy season is not futile. It is an opportunity to grow my roots deep as I wait for the sunshine to return. While I am waiting, I am searching again for who I am and what I will do, how I will blossom. I am storing up the strength to unfold my petals. And the sun will come soon. It always does.

But now? Now is the time to rejoice in hope, the hope that we shall finally see the sun.

Keep Walking

I haven’t hiked the Camino. Someday I hope to make the 500-mile trek across the mountains, valleys, and rivers of Spain, maybe with a few friends or on my honeymoon with mystery man. (I hope he likes walking.) The thought of a challenging physical journey across natural barriers fills me with enthusiasm—almost fervor.

Would I have what it takes to complete the journey? Could I keep moving forward despite blisters, aches, or illness? Would I be able to shoulder my load each morning or would I need to lighten my pack? Would I be humble enough to leave something behind and face the consequences?

As my mind scrolls through these questions, I realize—I walk this journey every day of my life. I am not speaking now of a physical journey, but of a mental and spiritual one.  Despite the numerous obstacles, disappointments, and failures of everyday life, do I continue to put one foot in front of the other and move forward towards my goal?

Responding to the duty of the present moment as I serve the moms and babies I live with requires flexibility and sacrifice, and some tasks are just not going to be finished because they are less important. Not knowing how someone will react to a question or reminder presents an obstacle in communicating a message to her. Falling asleep in morning prayer and coming down with a cold on my birthday seem like failures.

But these struggles are part of the journey. They are a splinter of the cross that I pick up and carry behind my Master. They are the load that I must shoulder each morning. And when the burden becomes to heavy and I need to lighten my pack, He is there to give me rest, to show me what can be left behind, and to give what I need to carry the remaining load.

Ponderings after Skipping Stones

This morning I skipped a rock that hopped five times across the water before plunking to the bottom of the creek bed—a personal record. I stopped then and rested from my run/hike across the countryside behind my house, thinking deep thoughts about the impact of one life upon another life.

People skim over the surface of my life, like the rock making ripples in the water, and only a few sink deep. What a gift these ones are, who have nestled even in the muddiest part of my heart. Despite that part, really.

Yet, those that have rippled by have changed me too. Perhaps it seems that the change is only at the surface level, but those ripples continue to impact me long after they have died away and after the people who have caused them have gone out of my life. Those words you spoke, the ideas you shared, the deeds you did, continue with me.

She loved me for who I was, even though we shared a room for only a week at summer camp.

He shared my love of books and discussed them for hours on end with me.

Her name completed the puzzle of my own, which led us to walk around with arms linked for half a day (at least) proclaiming that together we were “Anastasia.”

She encouraged the gift of writing that she saw glimmering beneath my overactive adolescent imagination. 

Their influence was short, but decisive. The ripples continue to extend. 

And those who have sunk deeper? It is almost too great for words to express how they have supported, and comforted, and known me. 

At any moment, these too might be chosen and flung far away to influence another, or chosen and carried away to rest in the nooks and halls of another, better home. 

Will I know the time or the hour? No. 

Will the hollow remain when that one, that stone, is taken away? Probably. 

Why can they not stay forever? I do not know.

His ways are not my ways.

Seeds of Sound In Silence Grow

“I love this song.” It’s a phrase that is much more likely to come out of some of my best friends’ mouths than out of my own. You can ask them. I’ve never really been one to fall in love with a song, to hanker after music, to desire it. And I don’t usually go out of my way to listen to music, because, in general, I prefer silence.

But music, I’m beginning to slowly discover, can make the times of silence in my life more fruitful. Or at least music makes the silence more reflective than routine. It’s like the difference between digging a hole in the ground for the sheer entertainment of seeing how deep you can get and digging a hole for the purpose of planting a seed in it.

Music in the in-between-times can help the silence to have a purpose. Music plants seeds.

So silence and sound work together, and sometimes it is good to soak myself in sounds in order that my silence will benefit from it.

I know this because the lyrics of Josh Garrels’ song “At The Table”—which I have been listening to and learning to play on guitar—have been stirring around in my brain for the past week.

I went the ways of wayward winds

In a world of trouble and sin

A story of prodigality, reconciliation, and conversion, the lyrics cry out to me as a sinner. There is always a place for me at the table of my Mother, the Church.

For each of us, there is a place. We are welcomed in the arms of our loving mother; our Father comes running to meet us. The prodigal son is welcomed to the banquet of the Eucharist.

Quotation from "At The Table," by Josh Garrels

Oh, the Possibilities...and I'm Switching to Pods

Perhaps those of you that I don't talk to face to face on a regular basis are wondering how my life is going. (Or perhaps not.) The current mountain that looms before me is what to do after graduation. Yes, the dearly anticipated and slightly dreaded date is getting progressively closer and I have no plans for the downhill slide of summer. 

But I know two things. 

My first fiasco with the bubbles.

The first thing is that there is an endless list of possibilities for my life in the coming years. I could become a nannie, a personal assistant, or a professional cheesecake taster, not to mention a crayon namer, wedding dress tailor, or writer. Although it was overwhelming at first, the current realm of possibilities is a beautiful freedom for me right now. There is no need to put myself into a box. Rather, there is need to dream without limits.

The second thing that I know is that I am switching to pods. Tide pods. After oversudding the washing machine this past week for the second time in the semester--although the experience was less traumatic and messy than the first time--I am giving up on measuring my own soap into the laundry. There is simply not enough time (or money) to run my comforter through the wash four times in order to get rid of the excess bubbles. (I guess that's what I get for washing my comforter during the middle of the semester.)

These are the things I know right now, along with the undying truth that I shall not want. God provides. He always does. And in that lies all my hope.

I Have Set My Hand to the Plow

Once again another semester has come and gone, and I, standing at this crossroads that is Christmas break, am given a chance to reflect on the whirlwind that was my life for the last four months. This past semester may have been the most difficult one ever, but because it was difficult it was also rewarding—spiritually and intellectually.

In October, I learned what it is like to be confronted with something that turns you bitter against the Lord and to choose that bitterness and to pretend that everything is still okay even when it isn’t. Losing both of my grandmothers three months apart from each other was not exactly my ideal plan for how life was going to go this year. And I refused to acknowledge for a couple weeks that I was angry with the Lord for taking them both so quickly. In a sense, I didn’t want Him to heal this grief in me. I told myself that I was okay with their deaths. I just didn’t want anyone to be involved—even God. And then one day, wondering why I was having such a difficult time praying, I realized that I had put this wall up.

I asked myself: What kind of disciple would I be if I stopped here, dropped the cross, and turned back now? I knew then that I couldn’t drop the cross, that I didn’t want to drop the cross. I knew I had to be faithful, to move forward, to allow this piece of the cross to shape me towards sainthood. I knew that I had already set my hand to the plow and that I could not look back. I wanted to be fit for the Kingdom of God.

Another said, “I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” Jesus said to him, “No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.” 

– Luke 9:61–62

This image of plowing was one that continued with me through the rest of the semester, as I struggled with the difficulties of researching and writing my thesis, trying to complete my reading homework, and saying “no” to numerous opportunities that I would have taken if I didn’t have work to do. The image of plowing is one that will probably continue with me through the rest of my life. Why?

Plowing is an image that speaks to me of choice. It reminds me that I have chosen. I have chosen Christ. I have chosen holiness. I have chosen to plow until I reach the Kingdom. I have chosen to write. I have chosen to love.

Deliberately I have set my hand to work, knowing that it will be difficult—the soil is heavy, the plow is clumsy, my grip is slippery. I am going to sweat. There is going to be struggle, exhaustion. Perhaps sometimes I will fall.

And when I am overwhelmed in the midst of a furrow, I can abandon the field, leaving it unfinished and unable to bear abundant fruit. I can look back. But then my work will be unfit for the Kingdom of God.

Or I can plow ever onwards, ever so slowly, in the path I have already chosen, towards the Kingdom of Heaven. Christ Himself waits at the end of the furrow with open arms. All I need is to keep my eyes on Him—to persevere—and He will allow my plowing to make the field fertile.

Constancy that nothing can shake. That’s what you need. Ask God for it, and do what you can to obtain it: for it is a great safeguard against your ever turning from the fruitful way you have chosen. 

- St. Josemaria Escriva

Shifting Pictures of Ourselves

You know those little 4 x 4 sliding tile puzzles that people sometimes give out as party favors or in the fish pond at parish festivals? Well, I'm really bad at solving them. But nevertheless, they're so popular that I have an electronic one on my computer desktop, with a picture of a lion's face.

But the face is all jumbled up and out of order. The cat's whiskers appear on its head and its eyes slide off the right side of its face. As much as I try to rearrange the tiles and restore the picture, I can never seem to figure out quite the right order. The lion's face is still distorted and incomplete.

Some days my face looks messed up too. I slide the tiles of my life around, searching for the proper arrangement that will reflect a balanced and beautiful face back into my eyes. 

At times I do this confidently, certain of where to position the eyes, but if only I could just get the chin in the right position…

At other times I go to the puzzle and mix all the tiles up at random. Then I can start over with the picture. Each piece is on an even playing field and no one tile is more important than another, at least for a brief time.

Sometimes a piece that I have so boldly placed at the center of the picture will hinder a piece that needs to go to the other side. This piece cannot remain rigidly in its place, but must move around, working in conjunction with the others to form the picture. And so the pieces of my life must give a little and gain a little. In order to solve this puzzle, I must discover flexibility within a small but appropriately sized frame.

There are times when I become discouraged and walk away from the picture. Who cares if the face ever comes out right? I'm tired of trying to solve this riddle of my life.

But my Friend takes me back to the puzzle. He shows me a sketch of what the final portrait will look like. It's just a cartoon, He says, of what the real thing will look like when we're finished.

It's so hard, I grumble.

Try moving this. He points to a piece in the upper left-hand corner. Try putting it here. A place in mid-right side. I'll be here if you need me.

And I begin to work at the puzzle again.