I'm soaking my mind in these thoughts

This week has been a montage of time with family, friends, and good reads.

 From the gifts of these conversations and epic trilogy The Lord of the Rings is emerging a morsel of truth. The truth that God is whispering is both assuring and sobering. Here it is: life is hard, but it is totally worth it and full of help. There will be moments, days, years even that seem impossible but help from God, friends, and family is abundant. Frodo is a prime example of this - he is responsible for a task that would crush him on his own. He must rely on the help of his motley crew... or at least the faithful companionship of Samwise to carry on with this seemingly impossible feat. We all have our own ring to carry. Something that seems impossible and, in fact, might be if we try and go it alone.

Here are the thoughts that  keep me going on my own perilous journey:

• Finding order in life is like riding a unicycle- you constantly have to be moving and readjusting ...this paraphrased comment came from Curtis Martin by way of a great chat with Hilary. An apt comment when thinking of the challenges that await us in life. Never is  there a dull moment and never is there a moment when autopilot is an option. Like riding a unicycle you constantly have to be assessing the situation and making little adjustments. 
• "Have patience. Go where you must go, and hope!" In this episode of LOTR Gandalf is charing the dwarf and elf to continue being faithful to their journey. He is not merely ushering them on, but challenging them to see the possibilities that lie in the future... possibilities that are full of hope, not dispair.  
• "Be very small and very loving" ...this was advice from Father Dave Nix and I just can't stop thinking about it. How true!! If you are very small and very loving you can also be very patient, very maleable, very humble... and not take yourself too seriously. 

I feel like Christmas continues to be a big hug from God. A quiet God. A simple God. A humble God. A God so humble as to make Himself a tiny child. This God is willing to become so small to show His love is asking me - tiny me - to become big in order to be His hands and feet on this earth. His request requires thoughts like these about order, hope, and being loving to go where I must go. Bear my own ring. And to hope. 

Art

I was struggling to feel that art had a viable place in my life. I mean, what is it really? What is it's role? How is it different from being just plain materialistic? I wrestled for almost a year with this question and then I got my answer. 

A few months back I journaled about my heart. A common topic for me to write about, but this entry seemed to articulate something that had not yet been said. This time I described the landscape of my heart. A heart that has been tattered and warn. One that has known love and war. I described the walls, the wild garden, the goings on there, and I even wrote about a single chair in the middle on which I sit. I had spent plenty of time thinking about my heart, but never quite described what it looks like. I had never made time to take a survey of its topography. 

Two days later, on a cool afternoon, I took a little walk through my neighborhood. Per usual, I admired the architecture, the colors, and the gardens. I moseyed by victorian tutors and modern duplexes, vacant lots, and overgrown ones with broken windows. And then, almost suddenly, I found myself walking with a spirit of purpose- like I was looking for something, but with no idea what. I passed by a cafe and a man walking his dog, and then a construction zone. My speed picked up as I completed the stretch of sidewalk where the beat of hammers echoed and power tools declared their presence.  I emerged past a chain-link fence and saw to my right a beautiful scene. On a large corner lot, surrounded by wispy greenery, was my heart. Three walls, crumbling and ready for collapse. Some wild flowers in the distance. And with impecable placement- the chair. I was moved almost to tears to see for myself the exterior scene which I knew to be real interiorly. I climbed up the small hill and gingerly sat down on the rickety chair. I took everything in as the chilly breeze caressed my face. In a matter of days the walls would be torn down, the land repurposed, and the chair gone. But for that moment I just sat. I was sitting in my heart. I was thinking about how grateful I was for the structure that once stood there. Grateful and yet sad for what had taken place and for all those who visited. And then, perhaps carried by the breeze, I experienced hope for what was to come. Hope for the structure. Hope for new visitors. New experiences. New life. And then, because it was time, I got up and walked home. I left my heart to be reshaped and repurposed. 

As I reflected to an artist friend on my stroll he shook his head and uttered to me, "now that is art." I think he's right.

Friday night and the lights are low...

It's Friday night at 6:21pm and I'm sitting in my bedroom wondering what to do tonight. Obvi I'm not going out on the town, but I have a good few hours before I hit the hay and I'm just not sure what to do with them. I think the problem is this- I'm caught between two worlds. One  world of carefree, creative, right-brain, timelessness and the other of structured, efficient, accomplished, left-brain, achievements. These two worlds make up my world, but neither seem to exist at the same time. I just can't seem to unwind after an intense week at work and I feel that I can either get a few things done around the house and be bound by time or go down to my studio and allow time to pass unnoticed while I make a new creation that will not help me to "check anything off my list." In light of the other, neither seems appealing.

Currently, I'm reading a book by Betty Edwards called "Drawing on the Right side of the Brain" which sheds light on crossing over between left and right brain. It's delightfully insightful on the topic and gives plenty of exercises and tips to make the switch. I've already seen my drawing skills improve and had a great time learning about the psychology on the topic.  The problem is that I can't seem to have both at the same time. Either I have zero awareness of time, cleanliness, or other normal restrictions and I'm wildly creative or I am structured, clean and bound to time like someone receiving an hourly wage and have no creative inklings.

What's a girl to do? Is there a middle ground? Can creativity and order exist simultaneously? Can life's metronome aid in the conception of new beauty? I don't know the answer, but I am going to test it out tonight. I'm going to do a couple of quick chores and then set the timer for two hours, pour another glass of wine, blast Astrud Gilberto, and head down to my studio. I'll keep you posted on the fruits of my labor.

All Grown Up

I was never too engaged when watching stand-up comedy. Not until Mr. Jerry Seinfeld put his finger on something that I was never able to quite articulate. In a moment of genius he painted an image of the difference between being a kid and being a grown up. Jerry pinned the tail on my childhood donkey.

Kids don't want other kids to wait, they must "wait up" Would you "wait up" When you're little life is up, you're growing up, everything's is up. Wait up! Hold up, shut up. Mom, I'll clean up, hold up, let me stay up... For parents of course it's just the opposite… Just calm down. Slow down. Come down here. Sit down. You are grounded. Put that down. Keep it down in there.

Mr. Seinfeld, hats off to you! I couldn't have said it better myself! When you are little life IS up!! But now that you're an adult, was that "up" you imagined so long ago everything it was cracked up to be?? I’ve asked myself the very same thing.

Let me paint you a picture of what I was like as a little tyke:
When I was a child I absolutely could NOT sit still. I would spend hours at my aunt and uncle's house with my cousins who were years older than me. They could be as still as the couch they were sitting on when watching movies or TV. They would play with their Barbies quietly for hours upon hours. I, in contrast, would struggle to sit still for even one minute- even while watching my favorite movies I couldn't quite enjoy myself until I jumped up and down on one leg and then zoomed around the room a few times. Sitting still was beyond my tiny body's capabilities. My cousins were so prim and proper and I was...well...not.... I wanted to sit still like my cousins. I wanted to be well behaved. I wanted to be grown up, but I didn't have it in me.

It was tough being so hyper. Being so little. Being everything but grown up. Even the triumphs were minimal. I remember the first time I could wash my hands in the sink without a step stool. That was a magical day and it may have been my first taste of real progress toward actually “growing up” but I knew I wasn’t actually grown up… maybe on my way, but not a grown up yet.

Years after I could wash my hands in the sink without a stool I began attending school. I did ok, but I had a disadvantage... I was never wired to function as a student. My frenzied fleeting and flighty mind never quite comprehended the concept of what it meant to use a notebook correctly. You may be wondering, what do you mean use a notebook correctly? Is it even possible to mess up using a notebook?? Well, my friends, I managed to find a way to use a notebook incorrectly... I didn't catch on until 3rd grade that when writing in a notebook you begin at the first page and write in each subsequently until you reach the end of the notebook. Nope. Not me. I just flipped around, wherever I felt like it and used whatever page I wanted. It never occurred to me to go in order. My mind didn’t work like that. It all seemed so hard, so difficult, like everything would be easier if I were just grown up!!!

As the days rolled on and I did begin to grow up I entered that magical land called Middle School. An enchanted place of braces and body odor, high-water pants, and a deep seeded fear of all social encounters. By the time I found myself emerged in that cesspool of awkward I was beginning to think that growing up wasn't all it was cracked up to be. I mean, if growing up really meant experiencing the excruciating emotions of anger, sadness, irritation and irrational happiness all within the course of 4 minutes was I actually interested?? Or to have my teeth laden with wires and brackets which harbored a whole host of food particles in any given day- is that what it meant to "grow up." I'm not trying to scare those of you with children, I'm just saying that middle school can be quite the unpleasant experience. Grow up, grow up, grow up, I kept thinking as a child, but this growing up thing wasn't exactly panning out.

Middle school did pass (thank goodness) and it was off to high school. I’ll spare you the stories of how I tried to be more grown up than actually I was … “Hosting parties” when friends’ parents were out of town was one way I attempted to be more grown up but that story is for another speech. But I will say that high school was a turning point. It was then that I tasted the sweet reward of my very first real job and received my very first real paycheck. The restaurant where I was hosting and bussing tables issued a first check to me and for the first time in my life – well besides the hand watching experience without a stool- I actually felt grown up!! I had money in the bank that I earned and it wasn’t just for chasing around little people. A real adult hired me and thought I did a good enough job to give me money in return! It felt like a truly grown up moment!! In retrospect I know that I didn’t just feel like I grew up I DID grow up!! I realized that being grown up wasn’t merely handed to you… you have to earn it. That’s what it means to grow up! As I said before high school was a turning point… because not only did I smell the sweet aroma of grown-up-ness… It was in high school that I also came upon the more unpleasant odor of toil and responsibility. School became more difficult. The pressures of impending college seemed to loom. I began to experience the joys of having money… and the sorrows of spending it all…

High school passed, college too. I rode out the moments of stress. I rode out the unpleasant times of failing a class or getting a speeding ticket. Bit by bit I built an arsenal of grown up skills. I learned to cook. I learned to clean up after myself. I learned to live with complete strangers. I gathered treasures on the way. Bits of wisdom here… pieces of advice there. And now, well, I am grown up. I’m an adult. I don’t know how it happened or when, but I think it had something to do with choosing to grow up. Taking those tiny steps toward “grown-up-hood” earning the grown up gold stars like buying groceries, paying bills…being responsible, mowing the lawn, getting toothpaste or toilet paper before they run out. I can say now after years of wishing I could grow up I have… and I love it! It’s better than I would have even imagined as a little girl who wanted it so badly. I can even sit still and use a notebook!

Czeched Inn

After an epic adventure in Spain Trish, Jake, Jeff and I took a hot pink jet to leg three of our trip. We arrived this evening in Prague and are staying at a place that is actually called 'Czech Inn.' Hilarious!

We ate a delicious traditional Czech meal of gnocci, chicken goody, sausage with mustard and horseradish; cucumber, tomato, and feta salad, and beer! Afterwards we smoked a hooka in the loft of a Bohemian hooka bar (sadly I didn't snap any pics) and we drank darjeeling tea and white wine. There was a little puppy at the bar who kept biting my fingers and the whole thing made me feel like I was in college again.

We're back in the hostel for a good nights sleep and there are rumors we'll find some jazz tomorrow.

The pictures above are of our hot pink jet and of Trish waiting for our ride to the airport. More adventures to come!!!

We

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Spainish musings, Spanish miracles

The country of Spain has been most gracious host for the past two weeks. It seems as though time here is nonexistant. Rather then it passing with ticking seconds the moments seem to pulse through multi-course meals, beautiful scenary, long conversations, wine and cidra (a Spanish hard cider) at every dinner, laughter, song, and changed lives. So far there have been three chapters which mark my time here.

The first chapter had only 5 main characters and a whole slew of supporting roles. Trish, Jeff, Jake, Sarah, and I departed from DIA on Thursday for 26 strait hours of travel. The vehicles included a Lufthansa flight on a massive bowing 747, two small jets, a bus, and a giant red Mercedes van which I had the privlidge of driving through the beautiful hilly Galician countryside. Together, the 5 of us spent 5 days preparing for the conference, meeting with the monks, the caterer, setting up the rooms, and working out final logistics. By the time our time of preparation came to an end we had many new friends. Lee, the hospitador from Texas who is a retired school teacher and stays at the monestary each August to welcome passing camino pilgrims. Marie Jose, our caterer (and now facebook friend) who bent over backwards to feed up to 170 people 3 times per day. Helene, the french pilgrim who realize she thought she was pregnant after walking the Camino for 3 weeks so she stopped at Samos and attended our conference. Hermano Gilliermo, the romanian brother who was fantastic and incredibly querky and gave us many things to laugh about. Among the ranks were also Brother Alberto, a Sean Connary look alike, Manuel, a live in at the monestary, Jesus (pronounced with a soft J,) Donny, our favorite waiter, and many other kind faces. Those first 5 days felt like a month and they concluded with a typical long 4 course meal and disbelief that the next chapter was about to begin.

Chapter two was equally fantastic, but far more exausting. It began at 8:30 pm on Tuesday, August 9th with the first busload of American and International students. The five of us checked them in and showed them to their humble accomidations. There was a group from Mylasia where only 3% of the population is Catholic. They said they are often pursecuted for their faith and were eager and surprised to meet other young Christians. Also, there were 20 Austrians who deserve their own post. They embodied a remarkable blend of service, kindness, musical talent, and spunk. A delegation of UK students, mostly from the University of Birmingham, were also represented. Their British accent paired with the wide marble halls of the monestary made me feel like I was at Hogwarts and any moment Harry Potter or the sorting hat would appear. When all was said and done it was 3am and we had 130 little heads in bunk-beds. The course of chapter two included inspirational and practical talks from nearly 20 speakers, time for siesta, soccar, long meals, and praise and worship. On Saturday we walked 14 kilometers to the town of Sarria and then a bus ride into Santiago where the camino de Santiago concludes. The pilgrimage from Samos to Sarria was spent in silence and those 3 and a half hours of quiet where a great opportunity to reflect on the days spent in Samos, which translated from Swabian means 'place of prayer.' Our final day of chapter two was Sunday with few thing planned. We had late Mass, brunch (which the Spaniards couldnt wrap their heads around,) a long siesta, and a pachanga (which translated pretty much means ruckus party.) The pachanga was hosted by the Hostel Victoria where we had eaten most of our meals throughout the week. They hired a bunch of high school students who played traditional Galician music which sounded like a combination of ska, big band, and polka. We drank moonshine from that region which was served warm and was lemon flavored with coffee beans floating in it. I weezed every time i took a sip. With festive libations and the high schoolers playing fiercly, all 150 of us danced into the wee hours of the morning. Chapter three began early the next day. We hopped on a bus headed to Madrid at 7am after taking one last sweep through the monestary. The monks saw us off and we were headed to meet the other 1.5 million pilgrims for the 23rd World Youth Day. Three quarters through the 6 hour bus ride we stopped in the charming walled city of Avila. There we visited the cloister where St. Theresa of Avila grew in love of God. We saw the cell where she lived, the place where St. John of the cross heard her confessions, and the actual picture he drew hundreds of years ago of the crucifixion. We entered the walls of the city, had Maxum bars (the best ice cream bars in the world,) and returned to the bus for the last leg of the journey. For the record, even though it seems like spending 6 hours on a bus would be miserable, it was not so for this ride. Some guys on my bus were playing guitars and a jimbe while everyone sang along for two hours. Around the 3 hour point a kid got up and gave his testimony over the p.a. system and then we prayed a rosary. When we werent singing or praying we were talking and laughing. Even the stops were fun. At one rest stop I drank coffee and went on a power walk with Sister Mary Emily. There was much joy to be had on that journey. Finally, around 6:30 we made it to St. Edith Stein Parish in Madrid. We celebrated Mass and then met up with our host families. I was paired with 5 young women from the states and when our names were called we were invited to stay with a family so adorable i can barely stand it. The mother, Maria is small and wirey, she is kind eyed, but packs a punch. She has to because she and her husband Robert have six adorable, but somewhat wild children. Robert is perpetually smoking a cigar, he works into the night, he seems a little scary at first, but after observing him for a small while it becomes clear that he's tender hearted. Their children range in age from 14 to 9 months. They are always running around, they're joyful, inquisative, and they love having Americans in their home. Most of them speak english and even if they dont, they find ways of communicating. The boys and I have been building a fire truck out of Legos for the past couple nights and the three year old girl, Gracia (pronounced with a lisp in true Spanish form) who doesnt speak a lick of English (save being able to count to 13) sits in my lap or asks to be held when we are together. It's truly heaven on earth being here. During the day we're with other English speaking pilgrims at the Palaceo de Deportes (the palace of sports) which is essentially the Pepsi center of Madrid. FOCUS is working at a booth and we've been listening to talks and welcoming other young Catholics all week. There is much more to come about chapter three. Tomorrow a new friend, Kira, and I are going to the Prado, the famous Spanish museum. We may also be there for the papal welcome and I'm sure the day will bring with it more adventures. I'm humbled by the blessings and joys of this trip. I cant believe I have been here two weeks already. Two more to go!

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it's happening

im sitting in my favorite spainish cafe (the only one im really familiar with) with Rebecca Alva!!! Seriously, a dream come true. Rebecca was one of my favorite students to coach for fundraising because of her spunk. she was always on the ball and eager to get to Spain because she loves God and knows she'll find Him here, but also beacuase she's working on a journalism project to capture her experience while here in Spain. The students are starting to pour in now so i should go and smile at them, great them, and try to prepare them to get their lives rocked (to the degree that i can).

en espana

well. we made it. trishy. jake. jeff. sarah. and i...we are here in galicia. the brothers are here too. bro gilliermo the romanian brother who proudly announced that he has two bats in alcohol in his bedroom. bro alberto is also here. he also happens to be sean connarys twin. there are 13 other priests and brothers who live here and two volunteers who help the pilgrims.

the monestary is here too. gigantic. beautiful. a stately building in the middle of town. it was built in the 6th century and has suffered numerous fires and the torments of war and financial turmoil. we learned yesterday that it has been splashed by the blood of martyrs who were seeking refuge from the mores.

before i came to spain i was convenced that that my life would be changed here. just knowing how my heart responds to beauty and seeing this place i know it is true. i have the intentions of my friends and family on my tounge and in my heart is gratitude.

Uncle Bud Visits Denver

A mystery about my life may has been solved tonight. Or at least I might be a little closer to knowing why my Catholic faith is such a big part of my life.

My parents took my family to Mass fairly regularly when I was a child. We didn't talk much about it, but we did make it a priority. No one else in my extended family went to church every Sunday, so I know my parents' presence at Mass was a sacrifice. However, when I was 10 and asked if I could start receiving Communion we discovered I had never been baptized. After months of RCIA classes I became Catholic. I was 11 years old with one practicing Catholic family member (my dad.) Time went on and I slowly lost interest in Catholicism and became intrigued by the faith of my Protestant friends. I planned to leave the Church after graduating high school, but after my only Catholic friend passed away and I encountered the Lord truly present in the Church, I decided to stay. God confirmed my decision by crossing my path with FOCUS missionaries and giving me the friends I needed to build up my understanding and love of the Lord.

It is clear that that chain of events brought me back to my Catholic roots in a beautiful way but, the mystery still remained. Why was I Catholic in the first place? My housemate Katherine asked me recently if there was a strong figure in my life who had been praying or fasting for me and I really couldn't think of anyone. I knew my great Grandma Genevieve was Catholic and feisty to boot, so it wouldn't have surprised me if she pleaded with God to grant me a love of Him and His Church, but I didn't have enough information to say that for sure. No one else came to mind so I began to wonder if a neighbor or the parents of my future spouse had prayed for me or something.

There were no leads until this very night.

Today around noon my dad called to let me know that my great uncle Bud was in town tonight only and that he would be having dinner at my cousin Faunia's at 6. I was invited, of course, and knew that I should do everything in my power to be there. My, I am certainly glad I made it.

For four hours I sat across the table from a 79 year old man who was the spitting image of my grandma June. He had the same large nose with a rounded tip. The same crinkly, smiley eyes. Even the same whispey, white hair. He told numerous stories about life, our family, and his faith. He talked of politics, music, and books. His disposition was remarkable. I knew he was tired, but he maintained a cool composure, even as the night wore on. He never missed an opportunity to compliment anyone and he took genuine interest in everyone who was speaking.

During a small lull in conversation someone started speaking of my dad's father, Larry. Larry and his brother Ron, married two Haney sisters- June and Nona. The Haneys were an anti Catholic family so when June and Nona married Larry and Ron and became Catholic, you can imagine the uproar. For a time June and Nona's mother wouldn't speak to them and they were completely disowned from their Protestant-Irish family. I believed that Bud was still in the same boat, but I was wrong.

The quality about Bud that permeates the whole of him is his faith in God. You can tell that he is hard working, knowledgeable, and raised a good family, but all of those things take a back seat when compared to his faith. He plays the 12 string, sings, and leads retreats at his parish. He writes songs for our Lord and loves to invite other people to Him. I believe he knows what it means to be Catholic.

I had no idea that Uncle Bud was a faithful Catholic, but what he said about my Great Grandpa Chuck baffled me even further. Great Grandpa Chuck, my Great Grandma Genevieve's husband, hadn't come up in conversation until the very end of the night. We had discussed every other family member, living and dead, but somehow Grandpa Chuck didn't make the list. I mistakenly said his name when trying to talk about Grandpa Larry and the first words out of Uncle Bud's mouth were, "Now. your Grandpa Chuck, he was a real Catholic." He went on to say that while Great Grandpa Chuck was not a man who spoke often of his faith, he lived it in every last detail. When he was convicted by something or Scripture revealed something to him he acted. I felt as though the final twist had been made an the rubix cube now aligned.

My Grandpa Chuck and I only had a few months together on this planet. I was on my way in and he was on his way out. My mom only knew him for a year or two, but she tells stories of him, an old cowboy, sitting in his hospital bed and weeping during his final days. She says they weren't tears of sadness, rather tears of joy. Not everyone has such sweet memories of Grandpa, though. Chuck Loser grew up on a ranch and loved to ride horses. As a young family man, necessity drove him into the construction business and he was hard working and driven the remainder of his life. He had a hot temper and jealous spirit, but his last years revealed the kindness that he had possessed all along. The only documentation of Grandpa Chuck and I meeting are a couple of pictures of me and him with our oxygen tubes on. I was a delicate newborn and he was weathered and tattered by time and the elements.

I imagine during those few exchanges between my Great Grandpa and me, my truly Catholic, Great Grandpa, I was given the opportunity to touch his heart. There he was at the end of his life, encountering the beginning of mine. While he held me, perhaps he was also wrapping me in Mary's mantle and asking her to take care of me.

Whoever it is who prayed for me I am grateful to God for continuing to bless me through the mystical body of Christ. In His goodness he has chosen members of my own family to draw me into His.

A toast... to today

It's going to be a great day! I just know it.

When the toast popped up it actually launched out of the toaster this morning. For some reason I just love that. It's like a tiny little joke between me and my breakfast. So anyway, that happened. And I think today's going to be good.

It turns out art matters

Yesterday I faced a giant fear. It wasn't really the public speaking. It wasn't the pressure from what people would think of the four of us in front of them sharing experiences and answering questions. It wasn't even the thought that the artists panel wouldn't "go well." The fear I faced was that no one is interested in art anymore- at least not as it relates to the Church &/or society.

I knew people care about art. I knew they want to express themselves. I knew they think beautiful things matter. I just didn't know they (especially college students) believed that art matters to our church and our society. Thankfully, my fears were assuaged. Even if not explicitly, the panelists and attendees revealed that art changes things. It matters to our Church, our society, our Lord.... and we have a responsibility and an opportunity to be a part of it. Through their attendance, their questions, their answers, their response. I was shown that others are thinking about the role of art and beauty and the church and it's a large role, as it turns out.

I have no idea what the fruit of the panel will be. I don't know who has been inspired or who has been empowered, but I do know I was built up and reminded of my identity as a co-creator with God. As Rachel told me, I have an artists soul and I know that soul will not be content without living out creativity and without the suffering and joy that art inspires. Father Peter said that "without a renewal of the arts there will be no renewal of the culture" and I couldn't agree more with him. I just hope I have a role to play.

A Random Smattering

Today I didn't read much. In fact, other than a few emails, I think I read less than 3 pages of text.I think that's a good thing to do sometimes. Not that I don't love to read, but there is such thing as information overload and I think I was on the brink of it. So this is not much of a synthesis of what I learned, instead it's rambling about some things that have happened in my life today and lately.

I took the day off from work to recover from the Saint Paul FOCUS conference (which was AWESOME!) The benefits of taking the day off included, but were not limited to:
1. Getting 10 hours of sleep
2. Going to the movies with Sarah and all the retired folks
3. Cleaning my room and the bathroom

Number two from above is referring to The King's Speech. HIGHLY recommended. In fact, new favorite movie. The portrayal of friendship was authentic and moving- something that you don't often find in a modern day movie. The character development was extremely well done. You instantly identify with the quirkiness and eccentricities of Lionel as well as the fear and woundedness of the Duke. Their qualities, history, and different perspectives come together marvelously to highlight the value of friendship and the hope that exists even in the face of tremendous setbacks. See it. I promise you won't be disappointed.

One last thing- here is a picture from my flight out to St. Paul. It was so much fun. I sat with 8 other FOCUS/CLM folks and we had a rockin good time on the plane. Praise the Lord for wonderful people.

Preach it, Papa!

From Pope Benedict's address to artists November, 2009:

Saint Augustine, who fell in love with beauty and sang its praises, wrote these words as he reflected on man's ultimate destiny, commenting almost ante litteram on the Judgement scene before your eyes today: "Therefore we are to see a certain vision, my brethren, that no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man conceived: a vision surpassing all earthly beauty, whether it be that of gold and silver, woods and fields, sea and sky, sun and moon, or stars and angels. The reason is this: it is the source of all other beauty" (In 1 Ioannis, 4:5). My wish for all of you, dear artists, is that you may carry this vision in your eyes, in your hands, and in your heart, that it may bring you joy and continue to inspire your fine works. From my heart I bless you and, like Paul VI, I greet you with a single word: arrivederci!

Photo: AFP/GETTY

No more begging

Have you been downtown on a Saturday night lately? Or any night of the week? Have you seen the late-night prowl? The look in people's eyes when they see the object of their desire pass by? How do you account for this? A friend of mine articulated it perfectly- They want....what they want.....when they want it…

I agree with his summation and I’ve been thinking a lot about it.

This phenomenon and an article I read recently from Six Stone Jars are pointing to something that is desperately lacking in our culture, an understanding of God’s hand in our lives and His desire for our good.


God wants our freedom, our happiness, and ultimately for us to be set apart for Him.

Even though He has promised us a feast we walk around begging and telling those we encounter that we have nothing to eat. We are a broken and wandering people. So confused we don’t even know what will satisfy us, we just know we are starving. But God knows. He knows what we need. He also knows when. And how. And His understanding of the situation is far more accurate than our own.

It’s time to start living like children with a loving Father. I, for one, am sick of begging. Especially because I’ve been promised a feast and He who promised is good for it.

{feast image}

Why remember?

Today's copyblogger post titled Defy Convention (or be forgotten) speaks about Frida Kahlo, a Mexican folk painter who is known for her raw self portraits, complete with unibrow and faint mustache. I read the post along with a myriad of other emails as I started my day this morning. But Pamela Wilson, the article's author, hit close enough to home that I am still thinking of her as I get ready for bed this evening. Wilson asserts that we can all be memorable if we give people something to remember us by. And, she tells us, this doesn't just happen by accident, "She [Frida Kahlo] went against the conventions of the day and left her brows and upper lip au naturel in order to stand out. Those were, of course, just a few elements of the overall style that made her unforgettable. Everything about her — from her appearance to her paintings to her personal life — worked together to create a powerful message." She goes on to say that by speaking truth, taking a stand, having a distinguished style, and not going over the top for shock value's sake you can be memorable in your online marketing. I believe she's onto something, and it doesn't stop online. If we want to make a difference, to be truly excellent, and to accomplish our goals- displaying that desire in one single aspect of our life is not enough, it must be expressed in every area. May we be bold in our convictions and allow them to purvey our whole selves.

Thinking light

I don't know that I learned anything today or read much worth while. Sorry to say, there's not much to synthesize.

At Mass Father Nathanial talked about three kinds of power according to Pascal. He said there is political power, the power of knowledge, and charity. I think Pascal's distinction will be helpful in assessing my own motivations and methods for doing things. Obvi charity is the best, but it is easy to fall into being motivated by knowledge or politics/money.


After Mass we had a lovely morning here at the 2241 dream house. My roommates and Justin (Jen's bf) had breakfast. It was what a Sunday should be. Kim later came over to work on her quilt. Then my cousin and her friend picked Kim and I up and we went to the Bronco's game. De-light-ful!! We had our faces painted, enjoyed food and libations, and my uncle generously sponsored the whole ordeal. Clearly he was motivated by charity. It was a great time!!


A Sunday this great can only be followed by an equally great Monday. Here's hoping!

Day 1!

Today was a great day to begin this little blogging project. I went to Mass twice*, thus two rounds of the readings, prayers, and homilies. I read from Getting Things Done, (David Allen), In Conversation with God (Frances Fernandez), and the first couple of chapters of The Happiness Project (Gretchen Rubin.) Not sure if I can readily find a theme, but I will say one thing. Having a plan makes a difference. Perhaps a plan isn't even enough. I'd say having a plan with a purpose makes a difference. Here is what I read today that defends this claim:


From The Happiness Project, We must exercise ourselves in the things which bring happiness, since, if that be present, we have everything, and, if that be absent, all our actions are directed toward attaining it -Epicurus. In life a search for happiness is bound to happen anyway, you might as well set out on an intentional journey toward it rather than look for it based on whims and passing moments.


From Getting Things Done, People love to win. If you're not totally clear about the purpse of what you're doing, you have no chance of winning -David Allen. I think that one speaks for itself, but in case you need clarification, you aren't the only one who wins from having a plan. The people you intend to be a part of your life also benefit. They want to know what it means to be successful, whether they're you're family members, coworkers, employees, teammates, they all want to know they can win.

From the Mass Reading today: Brothers and sisters: When the fullness of time had come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, to ransom those under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons. As proof that you are sons, God sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying out, “Abba, Father!” So you are no longer a slave but a son, and if a son then also an heir, through God. -Galatians 4:4-7. God is intentional. He has a plan. He didn't just arbitrarily send His son because He thought it would be nice. It was nice, but not merely for the sake of niceness. It happened and matters because it won our Divine son-ship and freed us from the slavery of sin. God has a plan and his plan is purposeful.

We are made in God's image, we all search for happiness, and we all like to win, therefore 2011 is a great time to identify our purpose and plan. Here's to more happiness, intention, and freedom in the year ahead!

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*That's not normal. I went this morning because I thought it would be the only time I could, but then my Mom wanted to go for her Birthday.

Happy New Year!

Another year has passed and with its passing comes new beginnings.

2011 will usher in untold adventures, uncharted relationships, and strengthened hope. I can't wait to see how the year unfolds.


No firm resolutions yet, except that I want to be more intentional about cataloging my experiences in life. Work, book club, blogs, In Conversation with God, homilies, and random encounters give me a great deal to think about each day. I'm going to write with the intention of seeing themes emerge from what I read and experience. We'll see how it goes! I'll keep you posted.




{Library image here and Bird image here}