The Gift of a Penny

Because I'm a Catholic nerd and my housemate is a Catholic nerd, one of the items on our summer bucket list is to visit every parish within a twenty mile radius of our house. (At this point, we've been to Mass at six of them.)

This past Sunday, we went to Mass at Blessed Sacrament parish. Bry was driving, so I didn't bother to bring anything along with me and blissfully walked out of the house - purse, key, and cell phone free. When we reached the stop sign at the end of the block, I realized that because I hadn't brought my purse, I didn't have my wallet. Which meant that I couldn't tithe. I had no money.

I was disappointed in myself. Earlier in the week I was thinking about the fact that I want to get back into the habit of tithing (the Biblical concept of giving ten percent of your income to the Lord) now that I get a regular paycheck. But I forgot.

When we arrived at the church and knelt down in the pew, I noticed something shiny on the floor, so I bent to pick it up. It was a brand new penny. God provided me with one little penny to put in the offering basket. I placed the penny on the bench beside me to wait until the offertory. As I placed the nearly worthless coin into the basket, I felt like the widow in the Gospel who put all that she had into the Temple offering. It was a humbling experience.

This penny was a sign to me that my Father was pleased with the desire of my heart to give Him a gift. And when I had nothing to give Him, He provided me with the gift. Truly, He will not be outdone in generosity!

"His blessing covers the dry land like a river, and drenches it like a flood."

-Sirach 39:22

Adventures - Part One

Spending your summer in the same city as your university, a city that pretends to be a college town but really isn’t and that is known only by one of two things—your university or the rape case that made national news—doesn’t sound very promising. But really, it’s not that bad. There are adventures to be had here…

At the beginning, the small adventures of starting utilities, paying rent, and figuring out how much food to buy at the grocery store were enough to keep me occupied and overwhelmed for a week or two. Now that these grown-up adventures are a regular part of the schedule of work, eat, and sleep, I’ve had some time to realize that the best adventures so far have come not from being an adult, but simply from being young, wild, and free with plenty of time and very little money on my hands.

A local hiking trail in a West Virginia state park has become one of my favorite refuges, and although I’ve only ever walked to the mile and a half point—a swimming hole in the next-door creek—I fully intend to walk further down the trail before the end of the summer.

Or sometimes when Bry, my housemate, and I get restless and neither of us feels like driving the seven minutes to the trail, we will drive three minutes to one of the nearby cemeteries and go walking or jogging there. “It’s so weird to me that cemeteries are something beautiful to walk through around here,” she says. Apparently Southern Californian cemeteries lack the beauty of small town Ohio cemeteries.

I laugh at Bry’s comment and soak up the beauty of the peach-colored sunset between three sentinel oak trees that are probably older than the town itself. The cemetery is enchanting in the dim dusk-light and I can almost imagine little fairies dancing in the woods over there or hear goblin men’s footsteps as they come to hawk their fruits.

But the “scope for imagination” isn’t why I like coming here. No. It’s a fondness for thinking about the people who are buried here and whispering a small and childish prayer that they are sleeping peacefully. I read their names, turning them over like a hard strawberry candy in my mouth, and the joyful hope rises in my chest that one day I will meet them all, that I will see their beautiful and ugly faces, and that I will hear their stories of life and the road to heaven. When I’m here they seem very near to me. It’s like visiting long-lost friends.

Of A Lack of TP and Other Nonsense

Yesterday I discovered the one thing that has the ability to make me grumpy first thing in the morning: a complete toilet paper deficiency in my house. It wasn't just a toilet paper shortage. No. There was not one sheet of TP in the entire house. I can live without coffee or in grave circumstances, even breakfast. But yesterday morning I would not endure living without toilet paper, so I promptly took myself across town to the local Wal-Mart.

Now we have toilet paper again and I have enough dryer sheets to last me for a year. They're hypoallergenic. Yeah yeah…big deal.

In other news, I'm beginning to think that I may never need to water my plants this summer. It rains here, on average, every twenty-four hours. Three of my six tomato plants started to blossom this week, and the pepper plants are getting nice and tall. Hooray! Fresh vegetables will soon be appearing in my own backyard.

Since I don't have to take time out of my day (or evening) to worry about watering the plants, I can spend more time perfecting my Dutch Blitz skillz. I think Dutch Blitz is the most addictive card game ever, but maybe that's just because I can never beat my housemate when I play against her…

When Dutch Blitz stresses me out too much (or when there's nobody to play it with), I usually pick up a book and start reading. As a kid I devoured books, probably finishing two or three every week. I remember always going to the library during the summertime and checking out a nice healthy stack of books (approximately 5-8). My efficacy as an avid summertime book reader has greatly diminished. I have only finished one book so far this summer, even though I've started at least five. (Well, I guess I've finished two books if you count the one I had to read for work.) But the loss of my book-ravaging has come with a gain - the desire to spend more time with what I'm reading and to really understand it.

Christ: In the Flesh

I am blessed to have an awesome internship in the same city as my college, which means that I get to stay here over the summer and continue with it. Hurray! One cool aspect of the job is that I frequently get to read the writings of the Popes, particularly of Pope Francis.

As I was skimming through Pope Francis’ most recent encyclical, Evangelii Gaudium, in hopes of finding a quote to use with one of the magazine articles I was copyediting, I stumbled across this gem: “God’s word teaches that our brothers and sisters are the prolongation of the incarnation for each of us: ‘As you did it to one of these, the least of my brethren, you did it to me’ (Mt 25:40).”

This is a profound idea—that each person I meet is Christ. Because that’s what Pope Francis means when he says that each one is “the prolongation of the incarnation.” The Pope really isn’t saying anything new, because the Church has always taught that each person is made in the image and likeness of God, but the way that he says this made me stop and think about the idea more fully.

When I desire to experience Christ physically present, my first instinct is to go to the Eucharist, since God has truly shown me that He is present within that tiny host. But if each person that I meet is “the prolongation of the incarnation,” then Christ is also physically present in each human being. Each person shows me Christ in the flesh, in his or her own flesh. That’s what incarnation means.

Like I said before, the teaching that God lives in each person is not a new idea for me or for the Church, but it is one that I am only now beginning to let impact my life. It means that if I want to love Christ, I must love the person right in front of me. I must be convicted that each person is Christ. And I have to act appropriately towards them—with an abundance of love and respect. No person is too small, too poor, too beautiful, too sick, too smart, too talkative, or too anything else for me to love them, since they are Christ.

But I fail at this all the time. So Pope Francis’ words are a challenge for me, a challenge to live out a deeper and more radical love of Christ by loving each person I meet. They are a challenge to seek the face of Christ in every single human being. It’s like a giant “Where’s Waldo?” game. Only with God.

Resurrection Encounter

A reflection on John 20:11-18

How deep His gaze into Mary’s eyes is when she encounters Him in the garden. “Mary.” His voice is tender and yet commanding so that she, through her sorrow, realizes that this man indeed is her Teacher and Master. “Rabboni!” She knows His voice; the sheep recognizes the voice of her Shepherd and immediately responds. He instructs her, briefly, and sends her forth.

In our own lives, Christ calls out to us – even in deep sorrow and suffering. He asks only for a response of love, a response of trust. When we hear our name spoken in the tenderness of His voice, how can we fail to turn quickly to Him in reply? He shows us, in his very body, that He is already victorious over all our human suffering. He brings us hope of the redemption of our bodies (Rom. 8:23) and of the glory that awaits us (2 Cor 4:17). After we turn to Him and have received with eager hearts the words that He speaks to us, we are sent forth to proclaim His triumph – that the Shepherd has died for the sheep and through His Resurrection has made each person into a new creation.

Of the Wonder of Love

This evening I attended the living Stations of the Cross put on by my university’s chapel as a special reflection for Holy Week. Following Christ’s journey to and death on the Cross is such a powerful form of prayer, and being able to see scenes from this journey acted out in front of my eyes brought many emotions whirling to the surface of my heart and my consciousness: sadness, gratitude, despair, hope.

Ultimately, however, the impression that I was left with tonight after praying the Stations of the Cross was one of wonder. I am in awe of how God brings great good out of seemingly great evil. Christ’s death was only a means to His Resurrection. And Adam’s sin was necessary for us to gain so great a savior. I am in awe of God’s greatness, of how He holds each one of us in His hand, of His perfect plan for every circumstance of our lives. When I see that He has such great love for me, how can I not surrender myself to that Love and immerse myself in it?

Life as a Costume Elf

During the first semester of my freshman year at college, I was blessed to find the coolest student job ever – sewing costumes for each semester’s theatrical production. Since I have been sewing since roughly age twelve, thanks to the inspiration of my friend L, and because the theatre was my refuge during the crazy years of high school, this was naturally the perfect job for me. The charm of this job has not worn off in the past three years.

After people have asked me where the costume shop is located, the next most common question I get is: “Wait…you make clothes?” Apparently saying that I sew costumes for the theatre isn’t a clear answer. So I respond calmly that yes, I make clothes and that, in fact, I get paid to do it. Sometimes people also ask what it is like to sew costumes for my job.

The first duty of each semester is to wait patiently for a cast. Once that small detail has been settled, we measure the actors – around their heads, their arms, their legs – and we jokingly warn them that the worst is yet to come. Measurements are the easy part; costume fittings, not so much.

During the beginning part of the semester research on the time period of the show is printed out and talked through. Then an exorbitant amount of time is spent sorting through every single stitch of clothing in the costume closet to see if there are any pieces that could possibly be worn in this particular show. Sometimes we get bored and we play dress-up, donning ridiculous hats that we would never wear in real life.

Once we have pulled out all the potential costumes we meet with the student designers and see which costumes are left that we need to make. During this part of the process, lots of time is spent looking through pictures of patterns and conferring with student designers about which fabrics are suitable for which characters based on their temperament and social status.

The next part is the best: we actually make the costumes! We typically cut out the various pattern pieces on the landing of the stairwell, since it is a wide-open space where we can easily spread out the fabric on the floor, and we get the strangest reactions from people who come by to go up or down those stairs. “Oh! I’m sorry.” Or “what are you doing?” Even “what is this for?” It’s a great way to promote the show!

Numerous other tasks go into making each show a success, including last minute scrambling to add drawstrings to pants, hem up skirts, or stitch trim to suit jackets before actors go onstage for the final dress rehearsal before opening night. One of the funniest instances of this was the time when an actor came up to the costume shop on the night of the final dress rehearsal and told me, “I don’t have a costume.” You what? Sure enough, we had a suit for him, but we had never put the appropriate trim on it, or even hemmed his pants. Oops. His suit got done in time for opening night, though.

Once show week rolls around and all the actors are properly clothed and on stage, one of us “elves” is stationed back stage every show in case there are any emergency repairs. This is our reward for all the hard labor of the semester. As I sit in the costume shop and work on homework or clean up the tornado of fabric scraps and threads, I can hear the sounds of the actors’ voices playing over the speakers like an old-time radio drama…

“You lie, in faith; for you are call'd plain Kate,

And bonny Kate and sometimes Kate the curst;

But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom

Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate,

For dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate,

Take this of me, Kate of my consolation;

Hearing thy mildness praised in every town,

Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded,

Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,

Myself am moved to woo thee for my wife.”

― William Shakespeare, The Taming of the Shrew