Aging Gracefully

“My hair is really getting gray,” she says to me as she combs her fingers through a couple inches of waves. “Do I look old?”

“You look your age,” I say. And, because I know that doesn’t seem comforting enough, “You have a young face, but I like that you look your age. We have enough people trying to act like they are younger than they are. Culturally, we need more witnesses of how to get older.”

My mom is not one of those moms that causes people to ask us, “Are you girls sisters?” She has not insisted on celebrating her “39th” birthday for years ad infinitum. As a woman in her early 60s, her short hair is graying more and more with every year. While I never really knew my mom as a young woman, I know from pictures that over the years she has changed shapes, sizes, and styles. Continue reading “Aging Gracefully” →

Monday Thoughts

Thoughts for this day:

The God who created this vast universe with numerous solar systems and millions of planets and stars, also created the intricate design found within each cell in our body.

Sometimes a pan of sliced almonds set on broil (and forgotten about for eight or so minutes) will start a fire. And it will cause you to call your dad into the room who will blow out the fire and dump out the ruined almonds. It will also be a good dose of humility and remind your mom that things don’t matter–because you ruined her lovely new baking sheet. Continue reading “Monday Thoughts” →

Ordinary

“What do your parents do?”
“My dad is a retired firefighter and now drives people at a retirement home. My mom stayed home with us when we were young and now works as a receptionist at a clinic.”
“Hmm. I thought it would be something different…I thought your dad would be a politician or something.”
“Nope. My dad is pretty ordinary.”

Some of the people at the table laugh and one says that the next time he sees my dad, he will tell him that I said he is ordinary.

“What did they do to teach the faith? Did you go to daily Mass?”
“No. We prayed the rosary sometimes and usually prayers at night. My parents just talked about the faith very openly and we always went to Mass on Sunday. My parents are pretty ordinary. They just did what they were supposed to: they were our primary educators in the faith.” Continue reading “Ordinary” →

In Defense of Travel

My parents never placed great emphasis on having things. We were far from impoverished, but I grew up knowing that we wouldn’t have the newest and latest gadget or toy. The car I drove throughout high school was fondly nicknamed “The Beast,” largely because it was old, rusty, and muffler-less. Our go-to cups for my niece and nephews are the cleaned out Kraft cheese spread glass containers from the many cheese balls my mom has made over the years. Our compost buckets are emptied out ice cream pails and it is a struggle to remember a time when my parents let me throw away food from my supper plate.

Although these stories of my thrifty parents are nothing compared to my grandparents’ stories (the masters of frugal living, I believe), it was different from the way that many others in my generation grew up. I am at the younger end in my family and so most of my high school friends had parents who were significantly younger. Depending on how you break up generations, my older siblings could belong to a different generation than me. Whatever the reason, I grew up knowing that things can provide only so much happiness. Continue reading “In Defense of Travel” →

Surrendering

One of my friends and I were looking at a listing of the different “definitions of Hell” based on a person’s Myers-Briggs personality type. There were a few that seemed to fit well with me, but the one that stood out was for the INTJ personality. “Every time you open your mouth to say something intelligent, something entirely idiotic comes out instead.”

We agreed that the scenario would be pretty awful. Then I remembered when I had my four wisdom teeth removed. I was awake for the procedure, but my mouth was injected and numbed so that I couldn’t feel pain. Afterwards, my mom came in to see me. For some reason, it was incredibly important for me to convey to my mom that I was still perfectly logical, even with all of the pain meds. Continue reading “Surrendering” →

A Moment of Encounter

Yesterday, I got out of school and brushed the half foot of snow off my car. I went home and helped my housemate finish up shoveling the driveway and sidewalk. Last night, after taking out the trash, I paused under the awning and took in the winter portrait that was painted before me. It was cool, but without our customary wind, it was nice out. An icy finger had touched the world, leaving trees outlined in silver and the streets glistening with custom-designed flakes.

Winter, I thought, is quite beautiful.

Then I took a few steps and entered my house, where I could view the frozen art from the ease of a comfortable chair. In those few steps, though, a thought came to me.

It doesn’t feel that cold because I have a home, right here, that I can step into. I don’t mind the cold today because I’ve spent very little time in it. If I were homeless, that wouldn’t be the case.

For yet another time in the past week, I considered again difficulties of homelessness.

Homelessness is never something I have seriously feared. In fact, it was within the past couple years that I realized that I’ve never even considered it to be a fear I could have. I live in a rented house shared with other young women and I have a job that pays the bills and loans I’ve accumulated. Yet I’ve always known that even if I lost everything I own, I could always move back home. Through the years, as my siblings and I have grown up, we have found it necessary or best to sometimes move home for a while. We’ve all taken advantage of it, for varying lengths of time. So if I got sick, lost my job, was in an accident, or something devastating happened, I know I would be able to seek the refuge of my parents’ house.

At the time that I was having this not-profound realization, I thought about how others don’t have that support system. What if I was all I truly had? What if I didn’t have parents that were able or willing to help me through rough times? What if I had no siblings or extended family that would let me crash on their couch or put me up for a while as I sorted through my life? The result of these thoughts was immediate anxiety and fear.

In the summer of 2014, I walked the Camino de Santiago. It was 500 miles across northern Spain and I carried all my possessions on my back for just over a month. While it was a beautiful experience, I was sometimes frustrated to always be packing up my things and moving to some place new. I didn’t have a home and I found myself wanting to spend two nights in the same place. Over half way through the walk, it happened when we stayed at a Benedictine pilgrim house. What a joy it was to leave our packs in our room and roam the town, knowing we would be sleeping in the same place that night and didn’t have to carry our packs that day.

Homelessness is not like that experience. It often doesn’t include a bed or a mat to sleep on. You aren’t stopping for a mid-morning cafe con leche or a sit-down lunch on a leisurely day. There is no communal cooking with lots of wine flowing into the evening. There isn’t the knowledge that if something goes wrong, you can use your VISA or ATM card to pull you through the dilemma.

In a minuscule way, I understood the struggle of not having a place of one’s own. I felt a desire to have roots, to remain in one place with a familiar system and order. I understood not having the luxury of a car and using only my feet to get everywhere, even after a long day of walking.

But, in all reality, I have no idea what it would mean to be homeless.

Last week, I went to help decorate a homeless shelter. I had little concerns and fears as I walked in, but mostly I found myself frustrated for feeling so awkward. It is far easier to write a check and donate to an organization rather than to encounter the homeless in the flesh.

“To love God and neighbor is not something abstract, but profoundly concrete: it means seeing in every person and face of the Lord to be served, to serve him concretely. And you are, dear brothers and sisters, in the face of Jesus.” -Pope Francis

I was embarrassed to feel out of sorts and out of place. Instead, I wanted to just interact with the guests as though they were ordinary people. Mentally, I couldn’t help but note the disparity between our lives. My inconvenience of a cool basement bedroom was utterly ridiculous in the face of the cold outdoors as a bedroom.

And I did a laughably small thing: I decorated the kitchen and helped bend the branches of a fake Christmas tree.

There was a man washing dishes in the kitchen. He noticed my arrival and would look over at me every now and then, making a little small talk as I worked. Internally, I was kicking myself for not being able to think of any good questions to ask him. I would comment on how many trips he made to get dirty soup bowls and he would comment on me struggling to, once again, find the end of the roll of tape.

Finally, I was stringing up the last bit of garland and he said, “You should have brought your boyfriend to help you.” I laughed, probably blushed a bit, and said, “Well, if I had one, I would have brought him.” He said he was surprised “a pretty girl like you” didn’t have a boyfriend. I laughed and said, “I’m still young, though, right?” (My one semi-consolation.) He said I was, but that he was alone, too.

Then, he did it. He opened a bit of his heart up to me, someone he didn’t even know.

“My wife died. It was three years ago. She died three days after Christmas.”

And, suddenly, this wasn’t a man doing dishes at a homeless shelter, but he was a man with real struggles and pain. He wasn’t looking for sympathy and he didn’t elaborate with a story. I didn’t ask him to, either. Instead, I told him I was sorry and said it must be very difficult. In a warm kitchen with crumbs on the counters and the heavy aroma of chili, I met a stranger concretely in a brief sharing of the heart.

After leaving the kitchen, I went to the entry way to help finish setting up the trees. Guests from the shelter kept walking by and I wanted to be certain to greet them with a smile, if I could. Because it would have been too easy to just ignore their presence. Excuse me, please. Carry along. We are setting up these trees for you, but we don’t want to actually interact with you. So I would smile as they walked past or move out of the way if they were trying to pass by. In many ways, it was easier to focus on the task at hand (setting up Christmas decorations) than to remember the underlying reason for all of it (the homeless who would be staying there). I tried to force myself to remember this central reason, rather than obsess over the exact angle of the ribbon on the tree.

Once again, I felt a smallness. Yet, once again, I felt a desire to do more. What if I did more than set up a tree? What if I volunteered far more of my time? Not to the idealized homeless person in my mind, but to the actual homeless people that I would encounter. In the midst of their hardship, I want to bestow upon them all kinds of virtues that aren’t necessarily there. I expect gratitude and humility and kindness. But why would I expect it more from them than from my students or co-workers? Rather than set them on a pedestal, I want to concretely encounter them. In the midst of their brokenness, their chaos, their efforts, and their failures. Because that is humanity. They have stories and lives and I choose not to romanticize them because they are real people.

I don’t know how these desires will be lived out, but I want to pursue them. It is not enough to feel sorry for the idea or concept of homelessness. Each of these people staying at the shelter and each person I encounter daily, has the face of Christ, if I have the grace to see it. We are all on the quest for a true home, walking toward the Heavenly kingdom much like I made the trek to Santiago de Compostela: day by day, carrying only what is necessary, walking even if we don’t want to, and journeying to a place that will justify all our suffering and wipe away every tear.

What other homeless pilgrim will you meet on the way today? Whose face will they have?

Comparatively Speaking

When I was younger, people often compared me to my older sisters.

For the most part, I liked it. My older sisters were involved in many activities at our small school and they were both really smart. To me, several years younger than them, they were the type of person I wanted to be when I got older. I enjoyed being known as the younger sister.

Following in their footsteps wasn’t something I minded, even to the point of telling people that part of the reason I chose the college I did was because my sisters went there. When I went to college, I always hoped that I would run into someone who had known either one of my sisters. Too much time had passed, but anytime I met an alumni who attended college the same time my sisters did, I would ask if they knew them. In fact, it was strange to be in a place where my last name meant nothing and nobody had any expectations for me based on prior knowledge of my family.

The first feelings I had of not wanting to be compared to my sisters were when they entered the convent. People assumed my following in their footsteps would lead me to the door of a convent. For one of the first times, I wanted my path to be markedly different than my sisters.

“When will you enter the convent?” was a question I heard more times than I can count. The fact that I liked Mass, Jesus, and my faith in general (combined with an introverted temperament) made people assume that I was going to become a sister, too.

My younger sister responded differently to people’s expectations. She oftentimes felt annoyed by the comparison that inevitably happened in a small school. I remember her battle cry in high school being something along the lines of, “I am my own person! I am different from my sisters!” And in many ways, I understand why she felt that way. Her talents were different from mine and the comparisons she faced seemed to say she didn’t measure up. People assumed she chose her college because her sisters had gone there but she was quick to declare that was not true. She picked her college, she said, because she wanted to go there, not because of anyone else who went there. In fact, it almost made her choose to go somewhere else.

I try to remember these differing views on comparison when I am teaching. Sometimes the siblings are so much like each other, I can see the older sibling in the younger sibling’s expressions or phrases. Other times, I have to keep myself from saying, “You are nothing like your sibling”–whether that is for better or worse.

For competitive souls like myself, comparison can become a dangerous road to travel. I didn’t mind being compared to my sisters when I was younger, and in many ways, I still don’t. Yet I can push the “competition” to the limits–how does one compete with a cloistered nun?

Someone even told me that one time. I mentioned that my two older sisters were religious sisters and their comment was something along the lines of, “How can you top that?” My response, filled with some subtle, yet biting sarcasm, was, “I can’t.” And internally, But thanks for reminding me.

I believe they meant the comment in jest, but I couldn’t help but walk away thinking, Why would you even tell someone that? If I’m not planning to be a religious sister, then clearly nothing else I can do could measure up. So many people who enter religious life feel the pressure to not enter. My high school and college years were filled with the opposite pressure to enter. At times I even began to feel badly about wanting to get married and have kids.

This is not how I enjoy being compared. Who wants to have the battle over who is winning most at life, whether in a religious or secular context? Because if I have expectations placed on me because my sisters are religious sisters, I am sure to disappoint. But, as my younger sister recently pointed out, we love to be associated with them. I will bring them up often and talk about their lives, but I don’t want to live life trying to compete with them. They aren’t competing with me.

I want to run a different kind of race. “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” (2 Timothy 4: 7) One where we are running together toward the same goal. I can look at the people around me and see their gifts and how God is using those to help the whole Church. People like to be seen on their own merits, not on what others expect of them based on siblings or parents.

However, sometimes the person it is hardest to get to stop with the comparison game is your own self.

On being alone when it’s disconcerting

The hardest part of college for me was always the going back to it. It wasn’t that I didn’t like school, I loved school. It wasn’t that I didn’t have friends, I did and they were amazingly wonderful people. It wasn’t that I had bad roommates, really awful food, or difficult situations with which to deal. The reason it was hard to start a new school year was the feeling I felt at the beginning of the new semester. It would be exciting, but I had this fear that I would be forgotten. With new classes, I didn’t know when my friends would be going to lunch or supper and I would have to establish a new routine for myself. The fears weren’t particularly overwhelming, but they were real. My heart would feel like it was caged in a bit the first few days of school. Contrary to my natural introverted temperament, the first days of the semester I didn’t want to be alone. Being alone made me a bit anxious and nervous.

The fear always faded quickly. Within the week, I would study alone in my room and be completely fine with it. I would call up a friend and we would go get lunch. It was all fine. As the years of college passed, the fear was less and less prevalent, although always subtly present.

I felt that little fear again when I moved into my first new home post-college. My parents and sister helped me move the stuff into the house and then they drove home. None of my housemates were home and for a little while, I began to question why I moved. I felt isolated and alone. That fear of being alone that is strangely so frightening to a natural introvert was again present.

I would like to say that since that point I’ve never again felt this disconcerting anxiety. That, of course, would not be true. It was the inspiration for this post. At times I am able to feel overlooked when I come home and can’t find someone to talk to, when everyone I seem to know has plans each night of the week, or when I see other people’s lives moving forward while I think mine is standing still. There is just enough truth in each of these events to make my little mind wonder if I’m not being forgotten or overlooked. It is then that the anxious feeling returns and I don’t want to be alone.
So this time, when it happened, I laid on my bed and I asked the Lord what was going on in my heart. I asked Him to tell me the truth because my heart is getting tangled in half-truths and full-lies whispered by the evil one. The anxiety I feel at times, isn’t desired by God. He desires peace for me. He desires not a spirit of comparison, but a spirit that is directed toward His unique love for me.

The fears that plague our heart are not foolish, but they are not necessary. God desires to hear about these troubles and aid us in our response toward them. Through that conversation, our fears and anxiety will necessarily subside and peace will reign.

“Dear young people, like the first disciples, follow Jesus! Do not be afraid to draw near to Him, to cross the threshold of His dwelling, to speak to Him face to face, as you talk with a friend.” -St. John Paul II

To Apologize

After three years of teaching high school Apologetics, I believe I understand the concept.

The idea of going into a full-out debate about religion, is a little frightening to me, even with a Theology degree and three years of teaching experience. My fear is partly because I don’t like tension-filled debates; I prefer discussions.

Outside of the classroom, I have had three notable theological discussions in the past year. They were good experiences because I had started thinking that I teach a class while I have little practical experience with the matter. Now I am realizing that I do have experience and it happens more often than I realize. My three “big” discussions were memorable because of the length of time spent talking as well as the breadth of material covered. Yet a similar experience happens on a more frequent basis–when my students, friends, or family ask a question and I attempt to explain the Church’s teaching on the matter.

Nearly as important as knowing the theological answer is one’s disposition. I don’t claim to do it perfectly, but I try to listen to them and to not become offended when their belief differs from mine. While I do want to make my points clear and provide good arguments for my beliefs, I don’t need the other person to feel trapped or badgered. If I wouldn’t like to be backed into a corner, then I try not to do the same to the other person. It isn’t being two-faced if you approach issues differently with different people. My discussions on abortion are incredibly different based on if they are with my immediate family or my students or with a woman in front of an abortion clinic. The varied people and places required customized responses. In most situations, there is no one-size-fits-all response, as convenient as that might make things.

I could be wrong about this last assertion, but I believe Apologetics works best when it comes in the context of a relationship. It is possible to give a talk to a group of strangers and have someone change their heart because of that talk. But in one-on-one Apologetics, it seems crucial that there be some sort of relationship with the person, a sense of trust that the other person (though they might be wrong) is entering into this discussion out of love and not a desire to just win. Our family and friends might be some of the most difficult people to engage in conversation, but I think it could be some of the most fruitful. In my conversation with a friend, we were able to challenge each others positions without becoming offended. Why? Because we were able to see that the other person respected us and desired our good, even if they were presenting something contrary to my own beliefs. The result was a beautiful discussion that still makes me marvel. I left the conversation knowing that I hadn’t completely changed her mind, but rather had given her food for thought. Walking away, I wished that more in our country could have debates like this. Not devoid of emotion necessarily, but filled with reasons for belief and presented freely with the understanding that the other person would not attack me for my beliefs. It is my mental model for how Apologetics can be done.

Even if you do not have a doctorate in Theology or have the ability to quote Scripture off the cuff, you should be engaging in Apologetics. In the simple truths of explaining why Catholics do what we do. We engage in Apologetics by striving to live the Christianity that Christ proclaimed–with humility, gentleness, self-control, love, boldness, zeal, and a willingness to suffer persecution for the sake of the Gospel. And we engage those around us, in our imperfect, unique, striving-after-more ways. You might be the only Gospel someone encounters. Live it well.

Independence and Surrender

Our entire lives seem to be a battle between independence and surrender. We seek independence at an early age and relish it for much of our lives. My two year old niece enjoys the freedom of saying “no” and running where she wants, when she wants. My nephews want to help with chores and frequently refuse help for themselves, instead wanting to demonstrate their ability to do it on their own. As adults, we are quick to forget there is any uniqueness in driving where we want, buying what we want, and living how we want.

Age or misfortune catches up to us and we soon find ourselves losing our independence. We can fight this inevitable fate, but it will only breed bitterness and malcontent. Eventually, we must surrender. In the spiritual life, we can learn this gift of surrender earlier. Relinquishing control of our lives, realizing that we are not the ones in control or willing our own existence, can prepare us for the gradual physical surrender that must happen.

My grandparents are aging and I see the fighting that takes place within them. I do not blame their desire to grasp their dwindling freedom or to express frustration at a body that is now turning against them. The simple freedoms are gradually slipping away–no walking around the block, no trips to the grocery store, no single bed for them to share. The task of getting ready for bed, something so mundane one often forgets it, is now one that requires help. Waiting outside their bedroom as they were ushered to bed, I thought of how someday that will be me, helping my parents. And perhaps someday it will be me, being helped to bed. Inwardly, I rebel at the thought. I think that I will break the mold, I will not need the help, I will do it on my own.

When visiting them, I can sense the mounting frustration. There seems to be both a desire to return to health and a desire to die. My grandparents have not aged prematurely. In their late 80s-early 90s, they are as fit as one might expect them to be. Thankfully, they are ill in body but, apart from a little confusion, sound in mind. I wonder what to say—do I speak of suffering? Do I remind them to be thankful of their blessings? Do I try to lighten the mood? Mostly, I just listen. I listen to my grandpa tell me about the picture of grandma now on the piano. He says he wanted it there because that is how she looked when they met. Her beauty floored him. I listen to my grandma talk about one of my many cousins. Her life for so many years has been about others, even now she finds it difficult to draw conversation to herself. I listen to my grandpa’s worries and fears. I listen to my grandma attempt to follow my mom around the kitchen, asking what she needs help with and telling her what to do.

While age has forced my grandparents to lose independence, illness can do the same for others far younger. I have a friend from college who has been battling a debilitating illness for the last three years. It causes her intelligent brain to rebel against reading more than a few lines at a time and forces her marathon trained body to be weak and unpredictable. I refuse to canonize her yet, but I have witnessed the beauty of her striving to surrender herself to God in His inscrutable plan. Such a situation could easily lead to depression and bitterness, but she is fighting the good fight, ironically by striving to lay down her arms.

How do we surrender? It is a choice. We can see physically our limitations. I can really want to do something yet find myself incapable. The spiritual limitations are less clear. With those, we can fool ourselves into thinking they aren’t there or that we have surrendered, simply by virtue of thinking the words once or twice.

In surrendering, we choose to not manipulate the situation, we choose to not be in control. After years of being told that we can do it and that we are the ones running our lives, it is counter-cultural to step back and release control. I can drive myself anywhere I want, I can eat whatever food I want, and I can spend my time as I choose. But I do not will my heart to keep beating, I cannot control the replication of my cells, and I am powerless in making myself continue to exist. For all the little things I doggedly control, I am incapable of controlling all the major aspects of my life. Accepting God’s authority in my life is central to becoming the saint He desires me to be.

Lord, help us to surrender, to admit with our lives that we are not the ones in control. In our inmost being we desire to belong to You and to give ourselves over to You. Grant us the grace to do so.

“Amen, amen, I say to you, when you were younger, you used to dress yourself and go where you wanted; but when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.” John 21: 18

Seeking After His Heart

A Blog Following the Quest of A Human Heart

Category: family