Free to Live

As I drove around yesterday, I thought about how nice it would be to go visit a friend. I drove past the highway and wondered what it would be like to be able to just take that on-ramp and go, to have the time and money to go wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted. Wouldn't it be nice to be a nomad, a pilgrim soul, travelling wherever the wind carried me, wherever my heart desired? Well, my scattered heart desires to go many places, but the wind seems to have stopped blowing my way. So far, none of my ideas for a new life have been viable, and I am not brave enough to pack my suitcase and step out into the big world alone. Until recently, I felt as if I were stuck in the mud in my hometown. A reality check reminded me that there are worse things.

The reality check came in the form of the death of a former classmate of mine, and the news of a health scare of a good friend. It's strange how much light death sheds on life, especially when death takes someone so young. As I sat with my high school friends at the funeral yesterday, I realized that the casket could have been for any one of us. We never know the day nor the hour when the Lord will call us home. This is not to say that we should constantly be afraid that our time is near, but that we should simply live life to fullest while we have the chance.

Of course, it is so easy to say that this is what we should do, but it's something entirely different to actually do it, especially when we are held back by certain limitations like school, jobs, family responsibilities, or lack of resources. When you see a twenty-three year old put in a box to go underground, you realize that life is short. We should make do with what we have everyday, rather than constantly wish things were different. It is difficult learning how to do this, especially considering the fact that I grew up believing in fairy-tales, believing that if I closed my eyes and clicked my heels together three times, I would wind up where I wanted to be.

Reality check: that only happens in Oz.

In Ohio, you work for what you want. You take on part-time jobs you hate to make enough money to get where you want to be. You take on each day as if you were taking on an army. I learn a little more each day about how to live the life I have, rather than complain that I am not where I want to be. I probably learned more in the last week than I have in the last several months. I took on the task of painting a ceiling, like Michaelangelo (minus the various colors and intricate details, but still...it was my own--plain white--Sistine Chapel). I covered the walls with a "wisp of smoke" tint to compliment the new bedspreads my mom bought. I helped clear farmland by moving large logs, branches, and playing the literal version of pick up sticks. I sat by a fire and made new friends over songs played on banjos under the stars and a full moon. I transplanted beet and collard green sprouts to flats fit for a patchwork greenhouse. I did things I never thought I would do, and I forgot about my worries and my fears. I simply lived.

While I lived, I felt the life springing from the center of my being, the point where Christ lives in my heart. I went to visit Him at the tabernacle in church yesterday and I laid down all of my sorrows and fears, everything that I was worried and anxious about--the girl who died and a friend whose health I feared for. I gave them to Jesus and I said, "I want to trust You, but all of these things are getting in the way. Remind me of Your love." And He did, but it struck me in a new way. Last year, I needed to be reminded that He cares for me deeply, that I am His, first and forever. Now, after all the experiences that have strengthened me and caused me to grow in the last year, God reminded me that we are all His, first and forever. My classmate who passed away, my family and my friends, my coworkers, all of the people who are important to me--all belong to Him. Whether or not they know, and whether or not they care, they are His to give and His to take away. My worries about those I love make no difference, but my prayers provide peace for me and assurance to God that I am placing my trust in Him. My prayers then become a channel of His grace, and I become a channel of His love.

It is difficult to constantly see that what we have here is a gift. It is so easy to get caught up in the daily, routinely nothings, to take everything for granted. But contained in each day is the potential to change a life, to make a difference, to spark a smile. Each person we encounter wants to love and be loved. But so many of us are afraid. So many of us fear taking that risk and making ourselves vulnerable. So many of us hide away for fear of being hurt. So many of us fear our love being rejected. And let's face it--we do get hurt, we are rejected. We are human beings in a human world and our love has limitations. But the Good Lord loves us with an abiding, merciful love--a perfect love. He covers the gaps in our imperfection with His perfection. His love always wins. When our love isn't big enough, His is. It really is. When we accept that, we are free--from worry, fear, anxiety--to truly and simply live.

It's beautiful, really.

Rachel's Contrition and hope in fiction

When I was growing up, my parents were pretty strict about the kinds of books they let us read. In high school, I was not allowed to take certain honors English courses because of the books that were read and discussed in class. Because of that, my reading horizon never expanded far past generic Christian fiction. Whenever I did have the chance to read or learn about "real" literature in school, I always loved to read a few chapters or excerpts, but never cared much to read the whole novel. I liked to taste the different writing styles and read summaries to get a feel for the book, but I rarely had the patience to spend time reading them all the way through. This often made me feel inadequate as an English major, but I survived. The very last class I took at Franciscan, Teaching Writing as a Process, actually did a wonderful job pulling together everything I had learned in my four years. Though it was geared toward those going into teaching, I learned a great deal about myself as a writer, and how the different teachers in my life (especially my parents) helped me grow into the person I am today. I found this quote in the textbook:

"Tell your daughter that she can learn a great deal about writing by reading and by studying books about grammar and the organization of ideas, but if she wishes to write well she will have to become someone. She will have to discover her beliefs, and then speak to us from within those beliefs. If her prose doesn't come out of her belief,...she will only be passing along information, of which we are in no great need." ~Barry Lopez, About This Life

My parents taught me this in their own way, and I am very grateful. I learned that it is more important to act as a child of God than to succeed in worldly terms. They taught me the importance of holding onto my faith and putting it first in my life, that the most important thing we can do with our gifts is to use them for the glory of God. I want to use my gifts to glorify God, but at times I fear failure. What if I spend years or even decades working on a book, and it never goes anywhere? Is there even a Catholic fiction market? How do I write the kind of book that glorifies God but can also reach millions of people? (And okay, I know that reaching millions isn't the goal--even touching just one soul is enough--but what writer doesn't secretly dream about a bestseller?)

My mom gave me hope for Christmas in the form of a book by Catholic author Michelle Buckman. The book, Rachel's Contrition, had high ratings on Amazon, even though it was a story about the writings of St. Therese helping a woman heal from the painful events in her life. It sounded promising, so I began reading. Then I couldn't stop. One taste of her writing wasn't enough--I devoured the whole book. I wasn't sure what was going on at first. It didn't sound like a typical Christian book. It was very well-written with a single distinctive voice. None of the characters were preachy. There was heart and soul, pain and healing, human weakness and the all-consuming power of a loving God. The story moved so that I kept wanting more. I felt completely transported into Rachel's world. In a way, I was her. I lost myself in her despair and found myself rising in her hope. I highly recommend you read Rachel's Contrition for yourself--then let me know what you think!

Get Your Love

As I walked down the street in my neighborhood about a week ago, the same street my family has lived on for 18 years, I saw it as if for the first time. The sapphire sky seemed to glitter in between the leaves as they waved crisply in the breeze. The golden autumn sun sent out its warm rays to light the branches, some still covered in green, others golden yellow, fiery red, and burnt orange. The breath of God was all around me, the beauty of the touch of His paintbrush all before me, the gentle strength of His hands beneath my feet. I heard that song from my youth in a faint whispering on the wind, "He's got the whole world in His Hands..." Following the strings of the youthful melody came a song from a more recent era: "I think I made You too small. I never feared You at all...What do I know of You, who spoke me into motion...What do I know of Holy?..."

It was then I felt it, the comfort in the knowledge that He has us in His hands. The whole world. We can look up at the domed sapphire sky as He looks down. We can smile into the sun as He smiles down at us. We can feel His breath on our faces in the wind. We walk with Him and He serenades us with the Spirit of Love He has breathed into all of His creation. It's beautiful really, to think that He spoke the earth into motion, that He breathed life into Adam. The breath of God's Love is the source of all life!

There is nothing and no one greater than our God. When I find that I make Him too small by letting thoughts of myself get in the way of love, or by letting my own pride get in the way of kindness, He finds a way to humble me. I have now made it a habit to take moments throughout the day to glance at the sky and smile up at our loving Creator. It certainly helps me to recognize my littleness in this big world! St. Therese wrote, "Jesus is content with a tender look or a sigh of love." He does not want our mindless recitation of old prayers as much as He wants our love, however we find a way to express this love, as long as it is true and from the heart.

It seems that what we ought to do then is let His love radiate through us, let it fill us to the point of overflowing so that every breath we take and every move we make is for love of Him. It is important then to treat the people around us, even the ones we would normally avoid because of their behavior or their appearance, with the respect and the love we have for God. The same breath of love gives each life the same dignity. Once we recognize this, once we come to God and accept His gift, we must help others see it as well. As my six-year-old sister says, "Get your love." Then breathe it in, breathe it out, and come alive again!