The Glory of the Virgin was all within--- and J.O.B.

For a long time, I have wondered and been at a loss to understand why the Evangelists should have spoken at such length about John the Baptist and the Apostles, and yet told us so little about the Virgin Mary, who in life and distinction excels them all. Being at a loss, I say, to understand this that I think it pleased the Holy Spirit that it should be so. It was by providence of the Holy Spirit that the Evangelists kept silent, because the glory of the Virgin , as we read in the Psalms, was all within, and could be more truly thought of than described. The most important fact of her life, that Jesus was born to her, is enough to tell her whole story. What more do you want to know? What further inquiry would you make concerning the Virgin? It is enough for you that she is the Mother of God. What beauty, I ask you, what virtue, what perfection, what grace, what glory does not befit the Mother of God?

--Thomas of Villanova, O.S.A.

I've been meditating on that quote for some time now, whilst trying to determine how "involved" I should get in a Marian thread in Ravelry. The thing that makes me pause is that though I HAVE the answers, biblically, apologetically, as to why the Blessed Mother is a good friend to have... (I had to find them for myself, when I was returning to the Church, because as I have said before one can be a perfect, five star Catholic and NOT have a relationship with the Blessed Mother-- but since so many of the Saints had such a strong one, I had to examine if there was something there for me.) So I have the answers. I can spit out bible verses left and right that demonstrate why Catholics honor Mary above all the Saints. But what happens in these threads, so many times, is that people comepletely shut down, and that instead of talking TO each other, we end up talking AT each other, something like this:

A: Mary was NOT the mother of God, she was the mother of Christ

B: But Christ was FULLY GOD and fully man, right? That's why the church fathers wanted to make sure that everyone knew she WAS theotokos-- Godbearer, and not Christotokos-- Christ Bearer.

C. But I already have a Savior.

D. And that Savior is JEsus, who was also Mary's Savior.

and on and on it goes.... because we have a set number of prepared responses to the Mary doctrine, no matter where we are coming from, and we aren't interested in hearing it. I know I wasn't-- I had to practically peel myself away from an R&P discussion the "Queen of Heaven," for weeks on end, only to find that, two years later, I had to go in there and publically repent because I MET the Blessed Mother, and everything after that faded away. It's very similar to your experience of meeting Jesus--- you fight it, and then one day you go: "OH MY GOSH! You are REAL!!!"

All this to say that I think Villanova's quote, above, is one of the greatest. The incredible humility of our God, that He would come to us as a baby and be vulnerable-- is absolutely amazing. He does the same thing for us in the Eucharist-- makes Himself silent and doesn't scare us or overwhelm us with the amazing glory of His presence. He is here with us: a baby, a piece of bread and a cup of wine, but he is totally HERE, and more than that, He graces us with what we need to deal with that. Mary had learned how to recieve from God. Oh that we would learn to do the same!

I didn't want to blog about this until we were 100 percent certain because if I let myself get excited again, I would completely lose it if it turned out not to be true! Wayne has a job--- a JOB! (I could literally bounce off the walls now!)

On the feast day of St Monica, whose life, as I've often blogged, reminds us to persevere in prayer, I was convinced that we would hear from PWC about Wayne's job. And we did. When the phone rang, I was already inwardly jumping up and down out of sheer excitement that he had gotten the job only-- surprise! He didn't, as you know. But, I was determined to take a lesson from the prayerful saint and just wait, and persevere.

THe next day was the feast day of her son, St Augustine, who as you should know is the fruit of perseverance in prayer. How perfect, I thought as I woke up that morning, that Wayne would get a job today! (haha)

I waited all day for the phone to ring and some magic person to call and say.... Just kidding! We've hired you at any number of these wonderful places you would like to work and we'd like you to choose from all these benefits and payscales! Alright?

But no, nothing. All day. In the evening, feeling defeated, I called Fr Tony for a chat. And he could only offer his prayers, but at that point, that's all I wanted.

Suddenly, the phone rang with a job lead. Wayne called. AND---- OmG----- it was a yes! And now, last night, we recieved confirmation that he begins on Tuesday morning at 8 am!!!! THANK YOU JESUS!

So in the end, he did get a job on the Feast of St Augustine, as I had hoped, reminding me of the fruit of faithful prayer and turning to God for everything, even when ALL HOPE SEEMS GONE.

The job is for a company that does electrical work, and mostly out of state. He will be gone most weeks from Monday through Friday, and home on the weekends (how's that for difficult, my deployment-fearing friends?? :P)

It pays well (more than we had dreamed!) and so we will be able to start building up our savings, off food stamps soon (if we can!) and just generally start contributing back to society which we are really excited about. And it's a job- a blessed job--- that will, hopefully, make him feel alive again. Thank you for your prayers.

Well.

Hmm. Had the wierdest day ever.

It was thundering and dumping rain this AM. Wayne can't do detailing on days like this so he just hung around the house kinda moping, occupying himself. It was business as usual for me except I have this killer sinus infection that is driving me nuts. To top it off, we got stuck in a tornado warning zone and couldn't leave the house even if we wanted. It lasted most of the morning.

In the PM, just as we were leaving for the grocery store, we got the call from PWC, the company that we were sure Wayne had gotten hired on with. Apparently, he is one point over their limit on his driving record because he has two speeding tickets, and so they will not hire him (insurance issue, apparently)

DEVASTATION. That was our only, pathetic glimmer of hope.

We went to the grocery store anyways (kids gotta eat, right?) and I shopped for forty five minutes, carefully price matching, checking for coupons and deals, etc. I really, really tried my best to bring the bill down as much as I could. Only to get to the checkout and discover that their system was down and I couldn't use my food stamp card to pay. Great. I left empty handed and decided to just swing by the IGA to pick up just the milk and diapers and wait to go back to the store tomorrow. In the IGA, it smelled like feet. My cashier was rude even though I was nice. The guy next to me, this typical ranger Joe, was wearing a tee shirt that said "I'm no longer a threat to society." I told him I liked his shirt and he laughed. He said: "How are you doing today?" I looked at him like he was from mars. How do I answer that right now?

I slank back to the car and got in. We drove home, and just as I was getting the kids and the groceries and Wayne through the door, Annika smashed into the front door handle, giving herself a giant bump and cut. She looks like she just got into a boxing match with goliath. It's only been ten minutes and it's already huge and blue. Like I told Wayne, we should have known better than to let her out of the house on a day like this.

I called Father Tony for a pep talk but he wasn't home.

What is going on? Why can't we get a break? ALL WE WANT is to work. To be productive members of society, to feed our kids, to put gas in our car. To be able to go to the doctor's when we are sick, or to have a nice meal with friends once in a while at home. We aren't trying to be millionaires, and we certainly aren't trying to keep doing this. We must have filled out a thousand applications between us over the last year. Why is it so hard?

On days like this, when you have NO CLUE what God is doing, you could just fall over, defeated.
But today is St Monica's feast day. And St Monica is the saint who, more than anyone, reminds me to persevere in prayer. So I do. and I am. I believe.

Lord Jesus Christ, my Savior, have mercy on us.

The pretty girl in the room

I started my diet today. Bleh. I was very, very tempted to gorge myself on chocolate and carbs this weekend, knowing that Monday was looming ahead-- but Wayne couldn't understand it. It's kind of like Mardi Gras, I explained, when you just stuff yourself before the Lenten Fast. Ridiculous, he thought. Oh well.

So instead I tried my best to be positive and not allow myself to feel deprived. The hardest part is going to be not having stuff in the house to cheat on even though I normally do keep some "just in case" sweets around.

Anyways, keeping things in perspective over here. It's not like I need to lose fifty or even thirty pounds, which would be even harder. I need to lose fifteen to twenty. So.... off we go.

I'm so glad I'm a Catholic! I am able to offer up my suffering, now to the Lord, for specific intentions throughout this diet. So that everytime I want to put sugar in my tea but cannot, I can say... lord, I offer this desire up to you for Amanda to have a stronger relationship with you each day and to hear your voice, and the angels will swarm around my prayers and bring them to God and I KNOW I will see them answered in a way I've never KNOWN before. Not by my work, of course, but by my willingness to unite my suffering to Christ's. God's mercy and graces are available to me through my willingness to suffer with Christ. Amen!

I SO wish I had been a Catholic when giving birth--- having intentions for my suffering then would have TOTALLY transformed the way I looked at what was happening-- my suffering would not have been useless. I knew, inherently, that it meant something, but I just couldn't put my finger on what. Now, my suffering has a purpose, and so I can embrace it, really embrace it, and call it a friend.

I saw this woman talking in a Rav thread today about how she disciplined her 8 year old son for downloading a Hooters girl from the calendar to his cell phone. She mentioned giving him the "Real girls don't look like that," talk.

I bristled. Literally, the hair on the back of my neck stood straight up. I can't stand hearing stuff like that. First, because I'm sorry to say that some girls DO look like that. And that's ok. But secondly, because in saying something like that, you are trying to teach your child that the "heart" only matters-- that you don't actually care about the way they look. But if that were true, then if they really DID look like a hooters calendar girl, you wouldn't be saying they couldn't possibly. You would have ceased to judge them. REALLY ceased to judge them.

It's hard being not so pretty. It's hard being pretty. Our bodies DO matter. There is meaning in them and they are a part of who we are. To dismiss people's bodies as "good" or "bad" is so terrible..... and such a natural tendency. Likewise, to IGNORE people's bodies or judge them based on how WE feel about them is twice as bad.

Ani DiFranco says better than I ever could...

And God help you if you were an ugly girl.... of course, too pretty is also your doom
Cause everyone harbors a secret hatred for the prettiest girl in the room
And God help you if you were a phoenix, and you dared to rise up from the ash
A thousand eyes would smolder with jealousy while you were just......
flying.

I had a really cool experience last night.
Father Tony took us out to eat at this wonderful restaurant. We weren't able to enjoy it as much as we should have because the kids were a little bit... difficult.. having not napped. But we did have fun. After dinner, we decided to swing by the rectory and pick up a movie on JP2 called Karol, and bring it back to the house so the kids could sleep.
As usual, we didn't actually watch the movie (we're all talkers--- it's not uncommon for us to find ourselves having talked from 6 to 1 am... and forcing ourselves to bed!) but chatted endlessly about all sorts of interesting things.

At one point, Wayne left to allow us to say evening prayer together. I had never prayed the liturgy of the hours with him before, but it was a very moving experience for me, particularly when he started chanting the Magnificat. There is nothing like uniting your prayers to those of a holy priest to awaken you spiritually. It was a total God moment, and His presence was thick in the room.

Later on, towards 10 pm, I forced myself to go to bed, knowing that I had a five am wakeup call coming, and Father and Wayne stayed up to chat. I settled into my bed for night prayers with the very thin wall between our room and the living room practically vibrating from the excited chatter going on in there. But as I drifted off to sleep, I felt a warmth so envelop me that I hardly know how to describe it.
I was lulled to sleep in the safety and security and love of God, evidenced to me by the knowledge of my beautiful children sleeping soundly in the next room, the voices of my wonderful, loving husband and my kind, loving, holy priest melting into the walls of my house. Storms could have raged outside. The world could have ended. But I had the presence and the blessing of God under my roof. I wouldn't trade that moment for the world.

Years, beginnings, and babyweight

I love the end of august! Even though I'm not in school anymore, the days are cooling off (well, sort of) and I can see everyone getting ready for "back to school."

The start of a new year promises a fresh start, a new beginning, and as we know, I'm a huge fan of new starts. With summer drawing to a close I've been re-examining my goals and what not. Now that Wayne has a job, finally, I can start to look at them again without despairing that they will never get done. (Isn't it crazy how so much of ME depends on HIM?)

First off, I will be homeschooling Annika come Sept 8. She is starting preschool a little early because she is totally ready-- she's incredibly bright. She is already reading letters and numbers and shapes, and can actually pick out her name from other words. So... it's time. And I'm excited. I've purchased a really simple curriculum that we can build on as time goes by, and I imagine preschool homeschooling is more about arts and crafts than anything else, you know? It will be fun.

With this change, our daily routine is going to change. I'll be posting it here in a few days because I know I have friends who like to know this kind of stuff. Alot of thinking goes into my daily routine. I have commitments I am not going to break and goals I want to accomplish, but I dont' always have enough time in the day. With that in mind, I've created a schedule that at least allows me to do MOST of everything we want and need to do. I'm still tweaking a few parts of it, but I think being anal about it now makes room for me to really get things done later. Last year's schedule was VERY efficient and I only had to rewrite it a couple times. This year, I have new goals and challenges though.

I'm also beginning a fresh new exercise routine. My gym attendance is sporadic, even though it really is through no fault of my own. Not driving pretty much leaves you at the mercy of whoever is willing to take you, and finding someone to haul you to the gym with your two kids every day is downright impossible.
For a while there, I was going every day for two hours, hitting the big weights (Yay for having a trainer husband!) and then doing an hour on the elliptical-- if I got my way-- or the stupid bike if Wayne won. :P

Sooo.... since that's not really an option anymore with him working "normal" hours, I can either WALK to the gym every day, which takes about an hour and a half, with the kids, hit the weights, and walk back, (HELL with children!) or just do most of my stuff home gym style and hit the gym on Saturdays. I dont really know which one I will choose yet-- Wayne and I are working out a good schedule. Nevertheless, I'm pumped to get back into it. Getting back into yoga recently has led me to a greater awareness of my body. I also interviewed for a local news station recently and didn't get the job because I'm a few pounds overweight. These extra pounds are keeping me from:

Better sex with my husband (because I'm so uncomfortable and embarrassed about them)
Being a flight attendant
Being a news anchor
Being in the army
Thinking I look pretty when I look in the mirror
Having the confidence to do pretty much ANYTHING
Being confident about the next time a pregnancy comes.

When I look at all the consequences the baby weight has, I 'm anxious to get rid of it. One of my biggest problems is exercise. In this house, we make healthy food choices, and Wayne gets a good two hour workout every day. Me, on the other hand, not so much.

The reasons are varied: I dont sleep enough, so I'm tired. Which means that when I'm given the opportunity TO be active, I dont always take it. Then there's the whole not getting to the gym factor. It's about a million degrees and humid outside so I HATE just going walking. I can't jog or just dance around the house, because my dang boobs weigh about a hundred pounds each and there is no such thing as a supportive sports bra for big breasted women. Quite honestly, I get EMBARRASSED when I'm out walking, too. I feel like people are laughing at the sweaty overweight mom -- because I KNOW I dont look cute. I'm used to people honking at me when I walk down the street. After having Annika, that stopped for me,. and with it went every shred of confidence I had to actually walk down the street. The silence hurts my feelings. In fact, at the gym, Wayne has made me cry nearly every time because I'm so embarrassed to be working out in front of people, and I feel like either EVERYONE is staring at me or I'm despairing because no one is. Talk about vain.

When I sit down to do crunches and flutterkicks on my floor, the kids climb all over me and make it impossible. And since, as I've said, I dont consider exercise a pleasure, doing it on my "lunch break" when my kids are sleeping is just unbearably unfair-- I want to knit, drink tea, read forum posts, and pray. Or SLEEP!!! Not sweat and grunt. These all sound like excuses, I know,. But to be fair, they are all real reasons why finding a solution for exercise is just really hard.

Am I freakishly overweight? No way. But I'm a size twelve now, and I used to be a size seven. The weight is mostly in my face and midsection. In fact, to me, it looks like I could still be pregnant, like my body just hasn't really figured out that the swelling in my belly needs to go down. It bothers me so much that for a LONG time now, I've just thrown up my hands and said, well. Screw it.

I dont know what the answer is, but the answer is there. I can't stand it when people make excuses for me, like... "you've had two babies in three years!" etc. Sure, but some women -- many women-- have two babies in three years and have flat stomachs. I get totally upset when I see them--- I'm like, why did God make you that way and me this way?? Because I SAW those women eating candy bars and what not while they were pregnant, whereas I was SO careful and tried to eat so healthfully and get so much exercise. The unfairness of it makes me depressed, and the depression makes me shut down, and the shutting down makes me give up on ever looking "normal" again.

SO, with that in mind, I'm renewing my commitment to scaling down the pounds. Which means--- I'm going to be SUPER vigilant about what goes INTO my body and super vigilant about how active I'm being. So please pray for me, because quite honestly, baby weight affects nearly everything in my life.

It's not much, but I need to lose between 15 and 20 lbs.

Of husbands and housewives

What a week!

Wayne and I have been really going through it. Whenever we get these "seasons" I find them difficult to bear because there is no one I really WANT to turn to.... not my mom, not my friends, not my brother, not my pastors, who would grasp the situation with eyes of COMPLETE understanding. I wish that there was someone who, like a fly on the wall, had observed our family dynamic for years and knew who we REALLY were and what our motives were, etc. That that person could objectively hear me out and know the "right thing to say," but the fact is that no one but God knows the whole story and no one but God knows what is needed to fix it because where our marriage is concerned, wounds are deep and communication is the key.

Wayne and I, when we "feel" love for each other (which is often, of course!) feel it powerfully. Our emotional love is a propelling force for us, helping us to do and be the best we can to accomplish whatever tasks we know God has presented for us. We have seen miracles in our lives through these times. Our softer moments are so precious to me. Particularly now that we have children, because our softer moments look like.... hallmark cards. Or movies. There's nothing like strolling around a beautiful southern lake hand in hand with your man, you holding one kid and he holding the other child's hand, sunset exploding reds and purples over the water. Or hugging on the couch in a giant meld of arms and legs, watching some kids' movie and giggling together. It's those moments that often get us through the tough times. So when we become accustomed to those moments (ie. when we FEEL love for each other on a regular, day to day basis)..... it's amazing. Just before I left for Philadelphia, we had an entire two week period with no fights, no harsh words, no "hurt" moments. It was magical. We missed each other while me and the kids were gone, but upon returning, no matter how much we wanted to continue that way, we just couldn't seem to. It took us nearly two weeks to figure out what the disconnect was, and now that I'm staring it in the face, I can't believe I didn't think of it before.

Last week culminated in some pretty stressful stuff. My "complaints" about's Wayne's behavior (And believe me, he has his own laundry list about mine) got stronger as he seemingly threw away the gentleness and thoughtfulness he had practically fought to acquire over the last few years and became his old, stubborn, angry self. Days went by and he became more agitated, until I could hardly stand to be in a room with him, but everytime I asked him: "why are you so MEAN????" I was met with resistance or worse-- standoffishness. He was incredibly sweet to the kids, and even when I thought he had completely LOST his temper and would take it out on anyone around, he would surprise me by switching modes and getting super loving with the children. Which made me sad, and somewhat jealous. I was glad he was being kind to them. But why wouldn't he be kind to me?

The entire ickyness of the week continued as we were PLAGUED with problems,.most of which I was too nervous about even sharing with him for fear that he would just lose it completely--- things like Medicaid not really covering Annika's arm (WOAH. Broken limbs are ridiculously expensive.) and getting "no," after "no," or simply silence, with regards to the eight million job applications we had filled out. Rent looms around the corner and with all our savings having fizzled out after a YEAR AND A HALF of unemployment, we just didn't know what to do. He escaped by being "Elsewhere," and I sat in the house with the kids, usually lost in prayer, and not really focusing the way I should have been on the children.

When we finally had hope after a positive second interview, my plan to rejoice with him was foiled when a lost social security card and a poorly filled out application sent him into a rage that actually spilled out into the "public world." I was having tea with a relatively new friend and talking church business when he came home upset that I had filled out some paperwork incorrectly and revealed his temper in front of her, which was one of the most mortifying experiences I've had to date. That night was our date night, and to be honest, I didn't even want to have it.

I had previously found these sale steaks that looked decent, and had been marinating them all day, hoping to make him a really good meal he would enjoy. I had purposely worn out the children to ensure that they would be sleepy by the time GHI started and taken care to clean the house thoroughly so he would come home to a clean, loving, nice environment. But his mood was so sour I just wasn't sure what to do. And my disappointment was great. I was so angry about his outburst in front of my friend, still, that I was just at a loss. I made the dinner anyways, but my heart wasn't in it.

During date night, though, we discovered something. Or rather, I discovered something. The poor man was having the worst troubles of his short life. He was under so much stress and pressure that he just broke down completely, and actually scared me with his sadness.
I put myself in his shoes. I saw him go off to the army excitedly, only to be sent home after COMPLETING infantry school and accomplishing his goal over a lie. I saw him lose his footing, unsure of what the future held, and stepping out to find a "new" thing to strive towards. I saw him come to an understanding that all he had ever wanted to be was a soldier, and saw him try again, only to be sidetracked by this strange French girl who stole his heart and attention from what was really important. I saw him have to quickly grow into a providing MAN, learning to lean on the Lord as she suddenly and unexpectedly became pregnant and I saw him give up his soldier dream to dream for the Lord. I saw him strive towards holiness and perfection. I saw him lose his footing as various churches knocked the wind out from under him. I saw him drive across the country on a dream. I saw him come back, nearly defeated. I saw him work towards ministry, only to discover that what he believed was not the whole story. I saw him realize that as a Catholic, his work would not be "in the ministry," but that like Paul, he would need to find his tentmaking job. I saw his pounding head as he desperately sought that "thing" he would be good at-- that place he would fit in. I saw him try and try for a year and a half to place himself. I saw it all crumbling around him as his wife, the one who was supposed to get him the most, looked at him with disdain and disrespect because he was lost and scared. How could my heart not move for him?? I wept in his arms.

We have to talk to each other. Even if it has to be without words. We have to hold each other up, because otherwise, none of us are getting out of this unscathed.

Yesterday, the Company we were really hoping for had him come down for a pee test and to fill out his W4 and tax forms. They will call him with a schedule as soon as his pee test comes back clean. He will have a job, for the first time in a year and a half--- not just any job. This particular company is one of the top three places to work in Fayetteville, has excellent benefits, and he'll be making more than he ever has here.

And to make matters better.... he has revealed a plan to me. An objective,. and one which is perfectly achievable. I love his plan. I love my man's heart. And I'm so sorry that I forget, sometimes, how to talk to him. I'm so sorry that I forget to be who God called me to be--- his encourager, his bride, the One who is FOR him.

Thank you for your prayers.

The light shines in the darkness... and the darkness does not comprehend it

I've just come home from another day at Carmel with the secular discalced carmelites in Raleigh. Wayne dropped me off at St Ann's in the morning for the 8:30 mass. He was excited and apprehensive, I think, about having the kids all day long (usually he only has them from noon onwards, but this time the Carmelite who usually picks me up was out of town and I hitched a ride with another one who wanted to meet me at 11 at St Ann's.)
He had them all afternoon yesterday while I was at confession and mass and it didn't go very well-- Ishod had been grumpy and Wayne hadn't really known what to do to soothe him. He was frustrated.

I went to confession yesterday determined to be extra thorough, to share some things that I have previously had a hard time vocalizing. One of the reasons is that my confessor is a friend-- and a dear one at that. It's VERY difficult to admit a wrong doing to your priest when you hang out with him on a regular basis.

One of the biggest things I learned from the whole Ted Haggard fiasco last year is that God loves to do a sifting work in us. He loves to make the dark places light. And people can SEE in that light! Before the brightness of the fire of God's love purifies our dark corners in a flash of light, it simply begins by illuminating them-- and that process only works if we let Him. We have to be honest with ourselves, honest with others. It's easy to stand here and say that hipocrisy is the number one problem in the church today. It's not easy, though, to stand here and look you square in the face and tell you that I have been tempted to look at porn this month, or that I have, for the first time in my life, lost my temper with my children, or that I nearly ate an entire batch of fudge in one sitting.
It's not easy to say these things because while I know the interior work that God is doing in me-- and I judge myself by my motives, YOU will only judge me by my behavior. The other members of the body of Christ don't read my journals, they don't see my soul, they don't know that I ate a ridiculous amount of fudge because I was sad and lonely and feeling unloved, or that I lost my temper with my children because a living hell was coming at me from all directions, or that I was tempted to look at pornography because I've been addicted to pornography since the tender age of seven when I discovered someone's stash in my house.
They don't know my whole story-- and they never will. They will only look at whatever sin I have and tisk tisk me, or inwardly say "I am so glad I'm holier than her." And so I cover it, shamelessly, because I know that I am NOT my sin. I am, in fact, repulsed by my sin, and I know the work God is doing in me. I want God to continue that work in me, but above all, I want truth.

We meditated on the Beatitudes today, as a part of our formation as Carmelites. And of course, we sought the opinions of some of the Church's masters of theology and best teachers to talk to us about today's topic: Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall SEE GOD.
Purity is something Carmelites seek after because as we know, from Carmelite saints, it is possible to see God even in this lifetime. To commune with Him in such a way that we achieve union and a kind of heaven on earth. It's the only beatitude that promises us that we will see God, which is the whole point.

Of course, there are many things to think on as far as purity goes. But the thing that stuck with me the most was wrapped up in St Teresa's life mission: to know God, and to know herself. How can we do either if we are not committed to absolute truth! I have to look at myself as I am and to say..... this is the truth about me. Sometimes that's a very hard thing to do. It's particularly difficult to do at confession, because it's not just YOU and JESUS in the confessional. It's you, and Jesus, and in my case, a representative of Jesus who happens to be a good friend. My priest's very humanity is humbling--- how sad that I'm more afraid to tell a HUMAN BEING about my sin than I am to tell the Lord God! I've always been that way.... I was more afraid to tell Liza I still smoked cigarettes than I was to tell the Lord, because I figured that the Lord would forgive me, but Liza's perception of me would be changed forever. I had my priorities skewed, and I still do, since confession often takes this tug-of-war place in my heart--- "Do I tell him ALL of it? Or no?"
What I forget, though, is that it doesn't matter what a human being thinks of what is happening in my life. It doesn't matter if I am judged my entire life. My vocation is still to holiness-- to repent, accept God's forgiveness, to grow, to change. To love my neighbor and my enemy.

I had gone to confession yesterday resolved, absolutely, to tell all. Only to discover that since his confessional was totally full of plastic bags of garbage, Father was holding confession in the pews near the back of the church. TOTALLY within earshot of pretty much anyone around. Naturally, they weren't supposed to be listening.... but Yeek! It was a perfect challenge to me. Was I willing to be completely transparent not just to the Lord, but to my priest and friend, to the members of the Body of Christ present at the time? To really empty myself and give a complete confession, holding nothing back. To live out my authentic love for God by presenting Him with the absolute, ugly, heinous truth about myself, and to recieve His amazing mercy and grace? I was. But what a lesson!

During mass at the rectory the other day, Father told me a great story. (He knows about my absolute devotion to the Eucharist and my yearning for the moment of communion constantly, and reminded me of something awesome. )Saint Teresa was so vain at one point, that she used to insist on receiving the largest host. Seriously. Even though one particle is enough to spiritually nourish us, She insisted that she deserved the largest host. How wonderful that she was on the Carmelite journey to Know God and Know Herself! Through it, she was able to know her need for confession and through it-- God gave her enough graces to seemingly give her the largest Host in the world if that had made a difference-- she was blessed because she searched for truth, for authentic Christianity and no imitation. She wanted to see God-- not a fabricated idea of God that existed in her mind. Him. The Source. May we all seek after the truth, and be open to the cleansing work He must do in us to find it.

Anyways, after mass this morning, I had a couple hours to kill before my ride arrived so I went to the grotto and prayed a rosary. It was raining outside and Our Lady was literally sheltering me. It was very moving, being alone in the midst with this beautiful statue which perfectly depicted the gentle, motherly love of Mary for her children, her eyes fixed always heavenward over the enormously populated graveyard across the street, reminding us of her devotion to Christ and her response to His mission for her: to save souls. (and no, for the protestants reading, I'm not saying that Mary literally saves souls. She saves them by leading them to Jesus, who is the One who intercedes before the Father for us. Just in case you had a panic attack when reading that paragraph. :P)

My Carmelite sister Kathy arrived and we drove down (up? I never know) to Raleigh for the meeting. The more time passes, the more in love I am with this community. I haven't talked a ton about Carmelite spirituality, but as I grow and learn more I certainly will. For now, let's just say that I find absolute peace on my monthly day at Carmel... I pray like I've never prayed.....finally able to find stillness in my soul and achieving silence which allows me to observe the needs around me and bring them to the Cross in a way I just have never been able to do before. Silence is important to Carmelites. We begin our community prayer by spending a half hour in silent contemplation in the Church together, and those who happen to walk in or out of the Church during this time tend to get uncomfortable. You can see when there are people there who do not share in the Carmelite charism. But it's in this silence that I come face to face with the Jesus I met that Christmas Eve in a Calvary Chapel--- the One who changed everything about the way I looked at life-- the One who promised me eternal life.



There is something absolutely magical about praying the Liturgy of the Hours with the OCDS community, too. It's as if time stands still, and in the moment I am surrounded by the voices of the people of God... ones who call Him friend, and it shows. When I think about the entire church praying the LOH, constantly lifting their voices towards heaven, unending praise and peacemaking and seeking the face of God for the people of the world, for the salvation of sinners and mercy on the whole earth--- wow. But doing so with Carmelites is a truly mystical experience, one I still don't have the words for.




It's so mystical that some of my friends think it's creepy--- it's almost too intimate, too in tune with the cycle of life, too deep. I dont think many people are ready to appreciate the beauty of it. It's like the Theology of the Body (my second passion!) in that it's so powerful it really freaks people out, and every reaction a person has towards it is strong-- whether it be a positive or negative response. To me, Carmel is life-giving, but to many people it can seem stifling, overwhelming, possibly even dark. The idea of being cloistered, I've noticed, really makes people flip, too. In my previous blog, I showed a clip of Danielle Rose saying goodbye before entering a cloistered convent. She expressed fear and nervousness about not being able to have contact with her friends she had come to love. One girl commented on that video that she found it sad that she had to say goodbye--- she couldn't understand how that could be scriptural,. why God might require that type of life from some people. To those people I would ask that they look at the spiritual fruit of Carmel-- the amazing conversion stories that happen solely by prayer. It's prayer of the Carmelite kind that can move mountains.

I got to sit in on the professed group's ongoing formation class today, thankfully, because they are still discussing the historical account of the 16 martyrs at Compiegne, which I find fascinating. 16 carmelite nuns gave their lives as an act of reparation to end the Satanic French Revolution... And changed the face of the world. Reading their story, particularly in this book, William Bush's "To Quell the Terror," gives us a whole new perspective on a seemingly unspiritual historic event. I had never thought of the French Revolution as a chapter in the History of the Church on earth before. Suddenly, I see the spiritual impact of it even today-- as we surround ourselves with the god of Reason rather than the Lord of Hosts.
It was a very moving read.

Anyways, lots of amazing stuff to digest, too much for me to blog about since this is rapidly turning into a novel. I came home to be assaulted by absolute chaos which I expect I needed to bring me back to reality and remind me that the mountain of Carmel is high and I am at the bottom, looking up.

One thing that was really driven home to me today is that as my Carmelite formation proceeds, I am undertaking something positively life changing. This is no small commitment. This is not something I can do casually. The choice I am making to answer this call from God means that I will be SO MUCH a part of His World that I might seem strange to the rest of the world. In the same way that nuns get stared at in the street, I imagine I will be perpetually faced with shock and awe from the world at the choice I've made to BE a Carmelite. ANd because of that, I have to make absolutely certain that it's GOD who is calling me here and not just ME who wants to be here. So far, I feel as though all that seeking and yearning has finally come down to me fitting perfectly in like a puzzle piece. But that's MY perception, and only time will tell if the community feels the same way about me. In the meantime, I am in prayerful, constant discernment, and that's the best place I can be. Our Lady of Mount Carmel, pray for us.

There are no words

There are no words to tell you how much I love the presence of the Lord in the Eucharist, but Danielle Rose has found them for me. I love those of you I am far from, those of you I've never met. I miss you. I wonder if I'll ever see you again... I love my Lord, and I want to be closer to Him. I often feel alone, but when I go to daily mass, I'll see you in the Eucharist.





Oh how sweet His love is to my taste.

I left my heart in philly....

It's 8:11 and I finally have a free minute to blog about what's been going on. I went to Philadelphia for the weekend with the kids and my cousin to visit my sister in law's family and especially to give my cousin a sense of "larger" america-- the part that isn't southern, and isn't small-towny.
It was an amazing trip!
We enjoyed family time with my SIL's family, especially since Annika has a cousin there who is exactly her age. She and Ava played and had a great time, while Annika's older cousin, Alex, shared some of his daily life with me. He's a really great kid with a lot going on upstairs-- talented, funny, and heading on towards manhood.
We took the train into the City and visited all the historical sights that would have made my dad proud.... liberty bell, Ben Franklin, and the place where the declaration of independance was signed. It was the first time I really got a chance to dig into the city-- and I loved it as much as I was sure I would.
It's funny how I used to be such a city girl, and now I'm just blown away by how fast and crazy everything is there. I left the quiet North Carolina Countryside (to give you an idea, here is the lake right next to my house)

Photo Sharing - Video Sharing - Photo Printing - Photo Books and liesurely walks in the country side,
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peppered by the occasional 82nd Airborne raid
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and found myself planted in the middle of the sweaty, loud, smelly, beautiful city, among masses of people who cross each other's paths every day without even blinking. Amazing.

When we got off the train, we were acosted by this group of militant, mean looking black guys who were raging about how the white man was trying to keep them down, all the while poopooing the Catholic Church as the cause of slavery. Ironic. Kinda nuts. My cousin couldn't take his eyes off them... he's been on the news in France for leading student strikes at his school, etc. He loves that kind of stuff.
I had never realized the significance the liberty bell had for people in other parts of the world until I saw it myself. It was very moving.
I also had the opportunity to visit the Philadelphia Museum of Art--- where I saw some AMAZING artwork that basically blew my mind.

The highlight of my trip was a visit to the shrine of St. Gianna Molla, as well as attending Sunday mass at Our Lady of Mount Carmel in Bridgeport... the city that Wayne and I want to move to.
We had some wonderful girl time, too. All in all, an excellent trip--- and I was proud of how I overcame alot of the difficulties, like having no where to change the kids in the city, or the fact that I had to share a bed with them in the hotel and therefore got NO sleep.

The next day, I was fortunate enough to attend Holy Mass at the rectory again-- this time with my four favorite ladies.
It was awesome. Wayne has had a couple really promising interviews this week and I have one coming up. Enjoy the photos.


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Annika and Ava


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The MIL and the SIL


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Waiting for the train from Bryn Mawr


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Annika plots a revolution


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Aurelien the greek


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Portrait gallery


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First Bank (all the buildings are cool and old like this!)


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My handsome moy (man boy)


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Annika sees a groundhog. Or a tennis ball. I'm not really sure.


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Saint Barbara!


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The Lord on the Cross.... so beautiful!


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San Damiano Crucifix!


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They were really proud of owning this in their collection :P


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Wow. Words fail me.


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Asian land


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Armory


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This one reminded me of Wayne so much!


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In the back you can see the Rocky Statue!!!!


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The actual rocky steps


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Valley Forge


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The girls being silly


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I will eat you mommy!!!


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Beautiful beans!


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Ishod took advantage of the trip to stand for the first time


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Everybody's scared of grandma time...


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Alex and Ishod-- those men have got to stick together!


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Alex reminding me how to play Magic, the Gathering. as you can see, I suck. And no, I didn't contract any demons.
:P


Bye bye Philadelphia--- hoperfully the next time I see you, I'll be living in your suburbs!! :)