For All the Saints

Saint Clare and Saint Francis of Assisi

We look to the saints, and follow their gaze heavenward.

Today is the Feast of All Saints. This is one of my favorite feast days. First of all, it is the feast day of ALL of those that the church recognizes as being in heaven. That means it's the feast of St. Francis of Assisi just as much as it is the feast of St. Francis de Sales. Three hundred years separate the two in earthly reckoning, and the differences also extend to dispositions and roles in the church. But today (and, in reality, through all eternity) they are honored side by side--completely united in the love of Christ.

My love for the saints has increased, rather than decreased, as I have gotten older. Most people become more cynical as they "grow up"--leaving behind those childish notions of piety and devotion. I also feel the tugs of the secular world, telling me to abandon those silly traditions and live in the here and now. "Why must you always be looking to the things and people of the past?" one childhood friend chided me once. I didn't have an answer for him then.

But now I think of the great people of the past as more than models of virtue and holiness. They are truly friends, comrades in the fight. And we are so blessed to have an abundance of friends to choose from. Depending on your own personality and inclinations, you can have the quiet, humble St. Therese of Lisieux for your patron or the boisterous, bumbling Saint Peter. Both were incredibly in love with Christ; both strove to join him someday in heaven. Both were missionaries: St. Therese as a missionary of prayer--never leaving her Carmelite convent; St. Peter as a missionary of action--spreading the Gospel far and wide and leading the Church as the first pope.

They are patrons, in that they are looking out for us, aiding us in their prayers and intercession. And so I pray to them, for their help and guidance. They have won the fight for themselves, but now they are like generals in an army, guiding and molding those still engaged in battle.

Is devotion to the saints foolish, childish, or even superstitious? In 1 Corinthians 2:14, St. Paul writes, "a natural man does not accept the things of the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness to him; and he cannot understand them." God's ways are not our ways; rather they are beyond our understanding: truly mysterious and truly glorious.

Recipe for giggling baby

Take one (1) mildly contented baby.
Wiggle a towel and rush toward baby.
Make sound effects, as needed.
Drop towel* on baby's head.
Ask, with concern, "Where's (insert baby's name here)?"
Pause for effect.
In a few adorable seconds, baby will remove towel from head.
Exclaim, "There you are! Peek-a-boo!"
Result: Two (2) incredibly giggly people (you and the baby).
Enjoy!

*This recipe is particularly effective when doing laundry. Feel free to substitute anything soft in lieu of a towel.

23 is Not a Fun Age To Be

23 is a rotten age. I suppose I should be excited. I should revel in the anticipation that surrounds my every action. But 23 is a kind of limbo. So many questions, so few answers. Will I get married? 23 shrugs. Will I get a "real" job? 23 equivocates. Will I ever move out of my parent's house? 23 settles in.

23 is restless, bored, hopeful, distressed, equal parts pie in the sky and down in the dumps. At 21, I was newly graduated from college, ready to conquer the world (or at least strike out on my own). But Fate dealt a cruel blow. I was a senior in college when the economy collapsed. My vision of acquiring a full-time job with benefits deflated right along with it. I took my old summer job until that ended. I spent seven months serving at a maternity home. And then came my string of seasonal work. I began to wonder when, if ever, I would have a normal job with a modest, but liveable income.

23 walks a tight rope. On one side is childhood and adolescence. On the other is adulthood. 23 wobbles somewhere in between.


A part of me knows that this is just a phase, a fleeting second adolescence. Soon I will reach the other side and solid ground, and leave the tight rope for others to cross. In the meantime, I stagger and sway, a bit unsure of my footing. And my eyes see with joy that the end is near. In a month I'll be turning 24.

Cycling is Not for Everyone

Cycling. Spin class. Death on a stationary bike. It goes by many names.

The first week of May, I was on a mission. I was going to use this month to get in shape for the summer. So I signed up at the local YMCA.

I had a free session with a personal trainer, who, after sizing me up a bit dubiously, was more committed to my goal than I was. The "Six Months to a New You" worksheet in his hand had all of the exercises needed to make a Titan out of me. The first thing he did was slash the "Six Months" part. "This doesn't apply to you. We don't have six months. We don't even have six weeks. Well, let's get started, shall we?"

I gulped, and pushed back the little voice of doubt in the back of my mind. "Let's do this."

After showing me various strengthening exercises, he led me down the steps toward the group fitness rooms. "Have you ever taken a cycling class?" he asked, glancing back to me as we neared the last step. "Nope."

"Today's your lucky day," he pronounced, ushering me into a room full of overzealous, sweating women, whose butts bobbed in unison. "Everyone, this is Marie." The instructor serenely welcomed me while my PT showed me a stationary bike in the corner near the door. "Just do whatever she tells you. Come back up when you're done."

And then he left me.

I started pedaling, trying to imitate the other riders. A minute or so in, the teacher kindly addressed me through the mirror that ran the length of the room, "Have you ever been to a spin class?" "Nope." I admitted, feeling a bit out of my element. A bit taken aback, she assured me that I would do fine, and just do what I was comfortable with.

I still had my PT's challenge ringing in my ears, to "Do whatever she tells you." Minutes later, we were instructed that there are three different kinds of positions when riding. The first (the only I have ever done) is the "resting" position, where your butt rests firmly on the seat. The second is kind of a squatting position, with your arms outstretched, supported by the handlebars.The third is a standing position, with your hands gripping the parallel handlebar.

Our challenge was to move quickly from one position to another, always maintaining control. Well, control was what I didn't have. And as we transitioned from position #2 to #3, I lost it. I had about two seconds of "control" and then my legs gave out entirely. It was as if my entire lower body just disappeared.

This would not have been so bad, had my feet not been strapped onto the pedals. With my feet still spinning in circles, my legs bobbed uselessly (and painfully), my sunken knees grazing the pedals and the bike. I struggled to regain control for what seemed like an eternity, until I was able to forcefully pull myself up by the handlebars. I was rankled and exhausted, however my fiasco was somehow unobserved by the other die-hard spinners.

I persevered. I maintained the "resting" position for the rest of the hour-long class, determined perhaps not to finish well, but at least to finish. We steadily climbed hills, raced downhill at mach-speed, and were congratulated at the end for a "good ride."

Will I ever take up cycling? Perhaps, someday. Now that the swelling and bruising has faded on my knees, my pride is also healing. But, for now, I know that cycling just isn't for me.

Independent Music Plays Here

Today I'd like to highlight some music that has been introduced to me via St. Louis' independent radio station 88.1 KDHX.

88.1 made it to my radio preset after I stumbled upon some great international folk music on a long road trip. I don't have a CD player (or an iPod for that matter), and as I discovered on that trip, my cassette player only plays music by Alvin and the Chipmunks. And so, for the multiple hours that I was travelling, I radio channel surfed. And that's when, about a hundred miles outside of St. Louis, I stumbled upon 88.1's folk program. Over the past five months or so, 88.1 has introduced me to several "new" bands, and I enjoy the independent, and mostly commercial free, feel to it.

In March, I heard the song "I've Got this Friend" by The Civil Wars on my drive into work. I was immediately struck by the initial bounciness of the beat which transitions into deeper, more pining harmonies of the male-female duo.

I was intrigued, and after telling my friend Jamie (a music aficionado, like myself), she found The Civil War's song "Barton Hollow." This one starts off with no upbeat pretense: it is dark, it is brooding, it is intense. And oh-so-wonderful. If you like folksy, pseudo-spiritual, deep Southern music (think KT Tunstall's "Black Horse and the Cherry Tree"), you will absolutely love "Barton Hollow."

"Ain't going back to Barton Hollow. Devil gonna follow me e'er I go. Won't do me no good washing in the river. Can't no preacher man save my soul."

The Civil Wars incorporate haunting harmonies, dark and brooding images, themes of love, loss and elusive redemption.

I first heard Carolina Chocolate Drops/Luminescent Orchestrii's "Knockin" as I was flipping radio stations one morning last month. The bluesy soul was what first stopped me from moving onto the more ordinary radio fare. My hand paused, and then came back to rest on the steering wheel as this song lured me in, with its siren-song lyrics, circular melodies, and dizzying strings. The female vocalist's voice is tantalizing, rich, and sweet, with an almost lazy self-assurance that reminds me of thick molasses on a July day (with some flies buzzing at the window, no doubt).

It's the kind of song that makes you want to take off your hat and stay awhile...maybe forever. In "Knockin'," I hear a tribute to Calypso, that enchantress that literally made animals out of many of Odysseus' shipmates.

"If you come a knockin', baby I don't mind. But if you're not here for lovin', baby don't waste my time."

Happy listening, and, wherever you are, check out your local independent radio stations. You never know what you will find.

The plans He has for me

For I know well the plans I have in mind for you, says the LORD, plans for your welfare and not for woe, plans to give you a future full of hope.

Jeremiah 29:11

It's Easter Monday, and I have the day off. Actually, I have most of the week off. It's been awhile since I've had an extended amount of time to think, reflect, and pray about my life. The direction that it is heading.

I am nearing the end of my job at the nature reserve. This saddens me, because I love my job. I really do. I love working with kids, and I love being outside in nature. It figures that I would love combining the two. But, alas, this job is a seasonal one, and so, I will be finishing up my time there at the end of May. I've been applying to jobs for weeks now, with a few interviews, but with no definite results. And so, I continue to search. But also to dream. And wonder where the next step will lead me.

I love great conversations. You know, the ones where you think, "Wow. This is great. I need to write this down!" I just had one of these mini-revelations with a good friend. In this particular conversation, we were discussing the infinite possibilities, and I told her that I feel God calling me in a new direction.

My strengths are very inward: I am inquisitive, meditative, detail-oriented, focused, and deep. These are excellent strengths, don't get me wrong, and having these strengths has blessed me profoundly. But, in the past few months, through my work in education, I have realized that God is calling me to move outward. It's almost as if He is saying, "Alright, Marie. You have mastered one set of qualities. Now it is time to work on something else."

And as I was telling my friend this, an image popped into my head of a flower. A flower starts off as a bud, tightly closed to the outside world. A lot of work goes on inside this bud that we do not see. It is being formed, built up, prepared. And once it is ready, once it has the inside, or the inward mastered, it opens up, and what was hidden is now shared for the world to see.


In the same way, I have been formed and prepared on the inside. Now is the time for me to open up, to share this wonder and joy with the world. To remain closed, and in essence, hidden from the world, would be to reject the Creator's plan for me, and His plan for each of us--to proclaim His glory, and the marvelous beauty of His handiwork.

So that they might have life

I came that they might have life, and have it abundantly.
John 10:10

About a month ago, I donated blood for the first time. Not long before, the topic had somehow come up with a friend. I had confessed, with embarassment, that I had never done it. "Well, why not?" he asked. "Um...well, I'm not sure I could do it."

Now, I am not afraid of needles, nor does the sight of blood make me woozy. But, I do have a history of fainting. And I had never had bloodwork done at the doctor's office. So I really had no idea how the loss of blood would affect me. But my worries seemed awfully unfounded and foolish once they left my brain.

I promised that at the next opportunity, I would donate blood. I left that conversation feeling good, albeit a bit puffed up. That Sunday, an announcement in the bulletin for the next church-sponsored blood drive deflated my pride. So soon? It's amazing how quickly opportunities present themselves when a promise is made.

Time sped onward, and the big day arrived. I was petrified. But, a promise is a promise. I slowly made my way towards the entrance of the Knights of Columbus Hall where the blood drive was held. I walked in with a Red Cross representative, who grinned broadly and held the door open for me after I told him I was a first-timer. "Welcome! Welcome!"

Since it was my first time, I had to register. This basically involves a nurse asking a gazilion questions about where you've travelled and whether or not you've been exposed to HIV and other diseases. This is to make sure that you do not have infected blood, obviously. After saying "No" to all of these questions (truthfully, I might add), they pricked my finger to test my blood for iron content.

I had thought I might be anemic, so I was a little apprehensive about this. If your iron is too low, you can't give blood (because you need it!). I said a quick prayer, and good news! I passed the iron test. When asked, the nurse said that I have a good amount of iron, especially for a woman. Finally, he took my pulse and blood pressure.

I had passed the preliminaries, and now it was time for the actual donation! It turned out that I was the very last donor of the day, so I had all of the attention I could ever need. My nurse put a small ball in the palm of my hand and told me to squeeze it gently. She wrapped my arm in a blood pressure cuff, while I squeezed to get my blood circulating. Then she prepped the site where the needle would go in, and regularly checked to make sure I was feeling alright.

The actual time it takes to make the donation is less than ten minutes. As the needle entered into my vein, I felt a sharp, but localized pinch. This sensation lasted the entire ten minutes. During those few minutes of discomfort, I had the opportunity to reflect on the suffering of so many around the world. My tiny suffering would only last minutes, but what about the suffering of others? Some suffer all of their lives, some for years, months, or weeks.

All too often, we try to avoid pain and discomfort. Suffering is seen as something to be endured and escaped if possible. Even Jesus, the Suffering Servant, pleaded with the Father, "if it be possible, let this cup pass from me" (Matthew 26:39). And yet, on this Friday, that we as Christians are audacious enough to call Good, we meditate on the greatest act of Love the world has ever known. Through Christ's suffering, we are given new Life, a Life that never ends.

In our small way, we can unite our sufferings to those of Christ. In that way, our suffering becomes not an act of anguish and despair, but of joy and hope.

On this Good Friday, I urge everyone to become a blood donor. As a healthy adult, you can replenish the pint of blood you give in 24 hours. And in ten minutes, with slight discomfort, you can save up to three lives.

Give so that they may live.

Dreams Derailed, Hopes Preserved

I promise that I will write a new blog entry today. But, as I was browsing the blog entries that only made it to the draft stage, the entry below caught my eye. It was written last October, after a disappointing rejection letter from a company I was eager to work for.

Now, months and many rejection letters later (from jobs as well as grad schools), I feel much the same. So, I will let this entry exit the draft stage and enter the public stage. Voila.

God often takes a course for accomplishing His purposes directly contrary to
what our narrow views would prescribe. He brings a death upon our feelings,

wishes, and prospects when He is about to give us the desires of our hearts. --John Newton

I consider myself a big dreamer. When I think of my life thus far, I recall all of the wonderful, and amazing opportunities that I have had--pilgrimages to Medjugorie and Rome, vacations to England and Austria all before I was ten years old. And then, the opportunity to study abroad, not once but twice--first to a small village in the foothills of the Austrian Alps and then to Oxford. Living in Phoenix for six months, and visiting the Grand Canyon and Sedona. And I've been blessed with a wonderful, caring family and a supportive network of colleagues and friends.

So when I look to the future (which I can't help but do), I expect great things. And so I should. The problem, I have discovered, is not that we expect too much from this life, but that we expect far too little. We equate what we want with the best possible outcome, when this is often not the case.

That being said, I still feel crushed when things don't go as planned. This afternoon, before settling down to write, I decided to see what came in the mail.

Big mistake.

I had received one of those letters, from a company that I had applied for, months ago. I had had a phone interview with them recently that I wasn't too happy about. But I remained hopeful, sent them writing samples, and continued sitting on my laurels. As soon as I saw the letter (pitifully thin as it was), I knew what it meant.

I opened it, and scanned quickly to the end of the letter: "We will be keeping your application on file, and, should it become appropriate, may consider reviewing it again at a later date, should suitable opportunities open up" (Wow, that's a lot of qualifiers within one sentence!). My grandiose plans of getting the aforementioned job (and the nice benefits that came with it) were destroyed. Gone. Poof. The cowboy rides into the sunset...

I remember boasting after leaving six months of service in Phoenix, half-seriously, that it would be no time before I had a great job and was saving money. If "no time" meant more than two months, then I was correct.

But, I remain hopeful. Perhaps naively, I still cling to the knowledge that the great experiences of my past did not come to me as payment for anything I did. They were all gifts. And the best gifts come when you least expect them.

Love

"When you know how much God is in Love with you, then you can only live your life radiating that Love."

Mother Teresa

O let the earth bless the Lord

I lead a charmed life. Truly I do.

I was pondering the sheer awesomeness of it all the other day at my job at the nature reserve. Here I was, on one of the grayest days imaginable, trudging through the brambly, sodden woods to tag and untag trees for tapping maple syrup. And I was incredibly happy.

Blissful. Serene. Giddy.

All of those words tied up in a pretty bundle with my name on it. Why, you might ask? I can't really explain. I think perhaps it just hit me that I was getting paid to do what I normally do in rare stolen moments--observe and experience nature in all of its everyday splendor.

Who else do you know who spends a morning marking a "Great Square"? (supposedly if you took all of the leaves from one tree and placed them side by side, they would cover half an acre of land) Or labeling persimmon trees? Yeah, I didn't think so.

Sometimes, I admit, I get a little envious of those who get to write for a living. Using my intelligence and wit to win my daily bread sounds very appealing. But then I remember that just as each of us is given unique talents and gifts, we each are also granted unique opportunities to use them for God's greater glory.

No, I do not spend my days crafting sentences to someday share with readers. Instead I wander around woods, prairies, and wetlands sharing my love and appreciation of nature with children. And that makes me very blessed.

O let the earth bless the Lord. Sing his praise and exalt him forever!