Wherever could they have gotten this wonderful idea?

Um, hello Anthropolie, have you been reading my blog? Ahem..

(and for the record I did not get my pillow idea from Anthropologie... Better Homes and Gardens, maybe, but not Anthro)

Divine Encounters

On the way into the Rio on Wednesday I ran in to Shred walking down the street with a fresh hair cut. What a tiny itsy bitsy world. Either that, or God knew just what we needed and facilitated our run in. Either way, I loved it! ...and then of course, I was at The Rio and there was a lot to love there to. Man, I love me a frozen margarita! Yum!

"Beauty will save the world"

This week, Dostoevsky's assertion, "beauty will save the world" has been falling into my life like the leaves in my yard, gently but constantly.
Since Sunday I have reveled in the completion of a sewing project, attended the Sufjan Stevens concert, and the Tenn St. art walk, salsa danced, explored Denver, and read JPII's letter to artists. These encounters with creativity have left me feeling alive and joyful.

Dostoevsky's claim about the monumental role of beauty is both invigorating and overwhelming. For if beauty is to save the world it is our duty as artists to further its cause.

But, as some wise men* once said"this world in which we live needs beauty in order not to sink into despair. Beauty, like truth, brings joy to the human heart and is that precious fruit which resists the erosion of time, which unites generations and enables them to be one in admiration."


I suppose if those charged with creativity are to make this world more beautiful than we must not fall into despair. At least we have joy in our hearts and are in solidarity with one another and with God in our participation in creation.






*The Fathers of the Pastoral Constitution of Guadium et Spes

Book Club Gems

one by one we showed up for book club at Starbucks tonight. each of us coming from our respective jobs, our respective relationships, our respective experiences to discuss a book which I, admittedly, did not read.

the conversation started as usual. grumblings from the day, news from the week, the nuances which color every gathering of this sort; how was work? what is so-and-so doing tonight? oh! did you get a haircut? i was thinking of you when...

the book discussion also started on par with the other twenty-odd times we've met. a thumbs up or down for the writing style, the author, the cover, and all those things that probably depend more on one's mood than the actual book.

then things got more interesting. this week the person who selected the book also brought discussion questions. after quoting a passage about any man being able to sprinkle rose pedals on the bed, but a real man being able to hold your hair while you're getting sick, she popped the question: name something romantic which you wouldn't normally identify as such?

hm. interesting. isn't THAT the question? what is something you don't necessarily receive as love which actually is love? ladies and gentlemen... well, just ladies in this case... things just got interesting!! we left our shallow chatter for a brief moment and dipped our toes into the depths of the human experience.

"no matter how late he stayed up playing video games my husband getting up (without a single complaint) at 5 a.m.to give our baby her bottle." , "when his choice is my favorite restaurant." about her father, "no matter who else was in the room or what was going on he would come up to me and ask how was your day, mija?" "he took the time to map out a whole trip for me just so I could avoid renting a car" What do these gestures by the men in our lives have in common?

well, first they are in response to reality. i mean, there are some legitimate needs at play in these scenarios: hunger, money, sleep. they aren't just walking around, willy nilly, trying to find something to do. they are perceiving needs and meeting them.

second, they are sincere. it is the way in which these gestures are executed that makes them loving. he is getting out of bed, choosing her preferences over his, overcoming the weight of the day, and weaving his way through details just to make her life a little easier.

third, they are actually what we need. as women we think our "need-o-meter" can tell us every solution to every problem. i mean, she would be much happier if she... if people just looked at life like...all that guy really needs is... but what we really need is to serve and allow ourselves to be served. as thrilling as rose pedals in bed might be, there is nothing like coming face to face with a man who will chose your sleep over his, or restaurant, self-esteem, or pocket book.

and then someone got a text message, and we started talking about being dairy and gluten free and about new houses and lunch routines. before we knew it we were back to the kiddie pool, splashing around and having a grand ol' time. but I won't forget the plunge. indeed, i know now deeper waters exist and are waiting to be forged.

Turtle Neck Swimming Suit Fiasco

In sixth grade, just after my parents got divorced, I was in desperate need of a new swimming suit. My dad, smack in the middle of a mid-life crisis, bought a boat with his brother and we suddenly found ourselves on the lake every-other weekend.

So there we were wandering through the racks of Wal*Mart. Me and the recent bachelor looking for a swimming suit for the awkward twelve year old body of mine. Even if it didn't look so awkward it felt awkward and that was enough to keep me embarrassed at almost every moment of the day. You can imagine the shade of my face as my dad and I searched for a nylon article of clothing that might as well be underwear.

Among racing suits and bikinis of every size and color- well, every size but mine as such things go- was a swimming suit like I had never seen before and have never seen since. My dad found it and I believe me, it was a sight to behold- the turtle neck swimming suit. An unidentifiable paisley-ish pattern with pinks and yellows which didn't quite go together, it was a mock turtle neck with thick straps that covered the whole shoulder. The top extended to the bottoms and the bottoms were shorts that fit no one, I'm fairly certain of it.

Once the tankini was found my dad was convinced that I must be its owner. Despite much pleading and whining I was suddenly wearing it in all its horrendousness. But at $9 how could we pass it down? my dad wondered. Due to some low lever miracle, pass it down we did. I finally convinced him that there were other fish in the sea and if he ever wanted to see me out at the lake again that poor excuse for a swimming suit could not come home with us.

I just thought you should know.

Guarded

From the pages of a decent book
the author said to me
Your heart shan't be out in plain sight
so hide her in a tree.

Away from tempters guard her,
don't let her yet be known,
in the hands of careless passersby
she will not be your own.

This tree should be an acre tall,
a sturdy, hardy growth,
and if prince charming dare climb up
he'll have to make an oath

This author kept on summoning
to place my heart up high
assuredly, though, not alone,
her guard around will fly.

This Pelican of great esteem
will be her constant guard
to keep thieves, and wind, and fools at bay,
and her from growing hard.

Oh, Pelican pour out your blood
to save the weak and helpless
While guarding shunned and most despised,
betrayed by a cold kiss.

And yet you fly with constant care
she'll never be alone,
not in the tree or from the ground,
nor any chintzy home.

So I will wait, the prince will come
the highest branch he'll scale;
for as his guard, his guide, and friend
the Pelican as well.

This week's highlights

10. Wal-Mart diversity: I found myself Wal*Mart Saturday to buy jello (see #7) for Easter and the check out lady was a lovely black woman who called me babe roughly 12 times during the minute and a half we spent together. Including Pick up your card off the floor, babe (when I dropped my credit card and didn't pick it up immediately) Being in Stapleton made me realize I live in a very white world and it makes me sad. Mostly because at my grocery store dads don't ask their fussy baby girls "why you gotta be like that, girl?" which I had the pleasure of hearing there.

9. Lindsey & Jen's original Southwest Salad: Salt and pepper seasoned chicken, chopped and chilled; chopped jalapenos, corn, black beans, lettuce, spinach, tomatoes, avocado, fresh squeezed lime, a dash of olive oil and red-wine vinegar. Amazing! Give it a whirl!

8. Tenebrae: A Triduum tradition with the gradual extinguishing of candles with each recitation of psalms, Lamentations, and readings from the Divine office. When the last candle remains it is walked slowly behind the alter while everyone stomps their feet and beats their pew to signify the earthquake after Christ died upon the cross. The chapel echos with mourning and tension while the lone flame escapes from site and then returns again to placed back on the stand. The lone, flickering light is returned, the clamor ceases, and all leave in silence. It is a beautiful experience of the drama of the resurrection which the Denver seminarians hosted.

7. Jello eggs: For years my sister and I have been using the jello egg molds, we purchased circa 1998, to no avail. Every time the eggs fall apart or won't come out of the mold or don't keep their form. But this year (sadly, without photo documentation) it worked! Alleluia! An Easter miracle!! Tip: run the mold under hot water before removing the jello eggs

6. Random encounters: Walking to Aveda this weekend I intersected Bri, Nathan, and Ben on their way home from REI. (I love living so close to the city! And to them!!) They had just randomly seen Denny, Rachel, Anastasia, and Denny's sister and were pretty jazzed about it. I continued on my stroll and as I was crossing 17th saw some familiar faces- there were Denny, Rachel, and the gang! I asked if they were waiting for me, assuming Bri and Nathan told them my whereabouts. Not so. Another random encounter! Then Denny pushed me in an attempt to keep me from being late to my appointment.... It was great to see them.

5. Healing Mass: Some friends and I went to a healing Mass Tuesday and, in addition to being a beautiful encounter with God's healing, heard some great tips about prayer. I will share them: When we pray we should read scripture as little children, about 4 years old. When we are 4 we know our own limitations and we are dependent upon our parents to wipe us up when we puke or go to the bathroom in the wrong place. As a four year old we will also be in awe when the great stories of the Gospels unfold. We should ask Mary to pick us up and kiss the lies out of our heads. And we should

4. I'm little: From many people this week I've been reminded that I am just like I was when I was young and I have a littleness about me that I need to recognize and honor. Even though it is sort of an odd thing to hear outright it was freeing to be reminded of who I truly am; a simple little girl who delights in the mystery of this life and who just wants to love and be loved... nothing really more than that.

3. History lesson: Ashley's bf, Bob graciously shared stories from history with me, Diane and Ashley on Friday. We were full of questions and he was full of answers. I realized how much I love being told stories. And I realized how skewed the US view of history is.

2. New family member!! John!!! Welcome to the Catholic Church, baby! It's great to have you!

1. Easter!!!! Christ, is risen from the dead, trampling over death by death -Matt Maher. Easter has always been my favorite holiday. From my childhood I loved the minimal hype and complexity of it all. The excitement of springtime, the presence of my family members, the candy, and sand-pit volley ball at Aunt Nona and Uncle Ron's. I mean I've pretty much been destined to love this day. As I've grown, the reality of Easter has grown more vibrant and I see how it is an occasion for transformation. I mean, it really does change everything. If death has been trampled by our loving God we are FREE!! And the depth of our freedom depends on how we embrace it. May we fully accept the graces and joys our Lord desires to give us this Eastertide. 50 days of celebration, baby!

From death into life

I am looking out my fifth floor window at the trees below - still brown and lacking any sign of life. Yet in a matter of weeks, buds will burst forth, proving that things aren't always as they appear. This reality of the earth bearing life from that which appears dead is an apt canvas upon which God paints the beautiful image of Crucifixion and Resurrection, a reality which brilliantly illustrates the virtue of hope.
This virtue - hope - is particularly handy when responding to those in need of God in a special way, those among our families and friends who have left the Church, are in the throes of sin, or who have never heard the Gospel message of Christ. It is with them in mind I return to the image of the winter trees, devoid of any sign of life. I invite you to participate in the springtime of their faith, bringing them Christ Himself to reawaken their souls, just as the passage of time, water, and sunlight brings forth the tree's new blossoms of spring.
Pray that God's season will be upon them. Pray that He will hasten their growth, and that His time for changing their hearts is now. Have a conversation with them; just as the water nourishes the roots of the tree, so too can your conversation lead people to drink of the that water that will quench every thirst. Finally, invite them. Invite them to spend time with you, to come to Mass, to join your family for dinner. Point them to the Son so they can stretch toward the warmth and vitality He provides.

Taking it off the top

To fast from the clutter of everyday life- This is my Lenten sacrifice. The first-fruits of my time, my heart, my attention... these shall be offered to God. Oh! To live simply and to become more simple in my ways; it is only in simplicity that I can see the face of Christ and hear His voice. Only there can I begin to see who I really am. He gives the charge take up the cross and follow me. Surely He knows how foolish and stumbling I am... on my own I cling more tightly to the clutter and complexity of my life, not the cross.

His response to my need is different. He comforts me without the stuff, without the clutter and pretense. His ways are not my ways. His thoughts are not my thoughts. And yet, the charge is given ...be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect...What could this mean?? How can I, a cluttery maze-like mess of a person, be perfect? be simple? be Heavenly-Father-perfect?


It is by God's hand alone. Nothing I can do will straiten this crooked path. It is my adoption as a daughter- only that- which removes the debris from this heart of mine... makes strait this crooked path and empties out these junk-filled cabinets. He invites me to participate, to give a wholehearted try, to offer those first-fruits. Lent is truly a gift, for it is my fruit that He will transform into His fruit- that is the God I serve. This Lent my prayer is that God will simplify my life and my heart. I am a Daughter and I long to be perfect like my Father.

*These pictures are from Saverinthecity.com and Cleveland.com respectively

fonts are hot

http://www.veer.com/ideas/galleries/staffpicks2009/gallery.aspx

Your faith has made you well

"Now there was a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years and though she spent all she had on physicians no one could cure her..." -Luke 8:43-48

I see that woman. Desolate. Without reason to hope. Constantly trying to keep her own blood from leaving her body. In a culture where blood deems you unclean hers built a fortress around her.


Her loneliness must have been immense. Her desire to be accepted in the sight of her neighbors, even her own husband almost tangible. She spent everything she had. What did she give up in order to find healing? Each hour of labor, each wage, every ounce of hope, and prayer offered- all to be cured. Peering over the wall into the life that she could not have- community, acceptance, joy, health... She could not attain it on her own.

This Man, Jesus, came into town. How had she first heard of Him? What story was told? Did she hear about the others healing? Or notice the crowd? Was it only a day that passed before she had the courage to draw close to Him? An hour? A month? A year even? And when she arrive did the thought of making Him unclean stir fear in her? Or was His presence a charge into action? Perhaps His words were so full of love that she knew what He could do. He; He could make up for what she lacked.

That which The Savior chose to heal humanity made the Jew's food and people useless and untouchable. He too would experience His own blood leaving him. How Jesus would have looked upon this woman after He realized it was her who had faith in Him and called upon His saving power.

She touched His cloak with great faith and was made clean. His blood for hers. His family for hers. His comfort for hers. He took her hemorrhages upon Himself as he does for all who approach Him.