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.