Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Red Wagons and Story Books

Wagons. Imagine you have a super shiny, really pretty, red wagon. I mean it's like super, insanely gorgeous.

Now imagine you're pulling this wagon, and that you're writing a memoir of your life as it happens. Each event is a story. With each event that happens, good or bad, you record it in a book and then place the book in your super shiny wagon.

After a while, your wagon starts to get heavier and heavier. If you're a saint and all your books are filled with good things, then you're proud if it's weight. But few of us are saints. If your books are like mine, then many of them are filled with pain and mistakes alongside the good things .

The books pile up. The more books you fill the heavier your wagon gets, the more tired you become, the more tired you become, the more your wagon drags, and the more your wagon drags, the dirtier it gets.

Then imagine you see this guy walking towards you. He comes up and sees how tired you are. He asks," Would you like some help?" You don't know him, so you answer," No, thanks."

"Well, can I walk with you? Just in case?" he asks. You agree, but only because this is a hypothetical situation where stranger-danger doesn't apply.

He starts talking to you. After a while you get into a conversation with him. You realize that you like this guy. He's cool. He's nice and funny and you feel really safe with him. After a while, he asks again, "Would you like some help with the wagon?" Again, you refuse. He's quickly becoming a friend, but you think you can handle it and don't want to burden him with your stuff.

He asks about the books.

"They're the story of my life." you explain.

"That's a lot of books." he says. "Your life must be pretty interesting. Can I see?"

You hesitate, but you like this guy, so you say, "Sure." you pick a book with good things in it. You don't want to depress him with the bad things. And besides, those are your things. Yours and yours alone. He doesn't need to be all up in your business, no matter who he is.

He looks through it. "I like this." he says. "Can I see another?"

You show him only the good ones, and he reads them all. He laughs and smiles and you talk about the experiences. Then he sees one that looks kind of run down, kind of beaten up. "What's in that book?" he asks. You hesitate again. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's okay, though." he adds.

"No, it's okay." but your voice kind of shakes. It's not really okay. "That book has the stories about all the bad stuff."

"Oh." he says. He can see you're upset. You can see that he wants to help, so when he asks, "May I see?" you decide to show him one story and only one story. He reads the story and you can see that he's starting to cry. You wonder why he's crying, so you ask him.

"Should I smile?" he asks you. "This is sad. It obviously made you sad and made you cry. Crying alone is sad, too. I don't want you to be sad." You think you're going to start crying. "How many books have things like this?"

You sigh. You look back at the wagon and the books. "A lot of them." you say. He stops and you stop with him. He put the book back in the wagon.

"I don't want you to be sad." he says. "And I don't want you to be sad and alone." He looks sincere. "Can I stay with you forever?"

You hesitate. "But you don't know me." you protest. "How can I believe you?"

He sighs. "You look tired. Can I pull your wagon for a little while?" You sigh, too, and finally agree. You give him the handle of the wagon, and expect him to start walking. But he doesn't. He goes around to expect the wagon. "This poor wagon." he says. "May I wash it?" You agree, and together you make the wagon as clean as it can be, but with all the books, it's hard to keep it clean.

You start walking with him. After a while, he says, "You look really tired. Would you like to rest?" You say sure, and you stop by some trees. "How about in the wagon?" he says. The wagon, although heavy, is large, and there is room for you to be comfortable.

"Are you sure?" you ask. You don't want to burden him. He smiles. "Of course!" he says. You get into the wagon, and after a while you're asleep.

After a while you wake up. "Awake, I see!" he says, smiling. Then he looks at the books. "I don't want you to move, but this is really heavy. Do you really need all of these books?"

"I've always had them." you say.

"Can I take some from the wagon?" he asks. "I'll put them in my wagon so you don't have to carry them." You're not sure. "Just one?" he asks. You sigh. "Okay..." he takes a book from the wagon, the one he saw that made him cry. The moment he picks it up, it vanishes.

"Where did it go?" you ask. That's your story. You want it.

"To my wagon." he said and smiled. He keeps walking. You fall asleep again. When you wake up, he asks if he can read a book. Being very tired, you say sure and hand him the one nearest to you. You go back to sleep. You don't know it, but he's reading the book and crying. When you wake up again, he asks if he can send some more books to his wagon. "Okay." you say. "Can I pull my wagon, though? I'm not tired anymore." Some of the books disappear when you get out and he hands you the handle to the wagon. You start walking. "Wow! It's lighter!" you say. You beam.

"Yes, it is!" he says. You start talking to him again. You keep talking for a long time, going into deeper and deeper conversations until your telling him your whole life story. You could let him read it, but you want to tell him yourself. You don't notice it, but the more stories you tell him, the more books disappear.

Finally, there's only one book left. It's a book that looks very, very worn out. It's dirty and gross and old-looking. You realize that you and he have been crying for a long time.

"Can I put that book in my wagon?" he asks you. "It will be safe there, but you don't have to carry it anymore."

"No." you say. He's your best friend now. "I don't want you to read that book."

"But you told me the others." he says. He is not condescending or impatient, but gentle. "What's different about that one?"

You sigh. "That one has all of my mistakes." you say. "I don't want you to see those." Every mistake you've ever made runs through your mind. You realize you're about to start a full out sobbing session.

"I saw the others." he says. You drop the handle of the wagon and stop. "I know you. I love you."

"But if you read that one, you'll want to leave!" you say. You start crying again. "I don't want you to leave. I want you to stay! That book will change everything!" You're embarrassed about crying in front of him for the first time, so you cover your face with your hands. He wraps his arms around you and hugs you. He doesn't talk for a long time; he just listens to you cry. You can feel his tears fall from his face into your hair or onto your shoulders. You calm down after a long while, and he speaks.

"How could I leave you?" he asks, still holding you close. "How could I leave the one that I love? I love you! I want to be with you forever! I do not want you to be alone, and as long as I am here, you will never have to be alone! Why should I leave? I love you, and what you have done will never, ever change that!"

"Everyone says that." you protest, but you want him to be telling the truth, so you pull back and give him the book. "Take it." you say. "Just take it. You'll see. That book changes everything."

He starts reading the book. You stand there, waiting for the moment when he will say, "You know, you're not who I thought you were. Here are your books back. Maybe I'll see you around." But that moment never comes.

He finishes the book. "Oh, my beloved. I love you." Suddenly, again, you're crying. You're crying so hard that when he puts the book down and wraps his arms around you again, you start to fall, but he catches you. He doesn't let you go. "I will never abandon or forsake or leave you." he says. "I love you." You cling to him. You cry. He holds you. You know that you are safe with him. You know with all your heart that he's telling the truth, and you realize that you love him, too. "Don't leave me." he says. "I'll never leave you. I love you."

"I love you, too." you say. You realize, with a start, that he's somebody amazing. You want to get to know him even more, but you know that the only way to do that is to let him take the book for you. You give him the book. The moment he takes it, it vanishes. You feel great. Like the whole world has suddenly turned around.

"Let's clean your wagon." he suggests. You feel fantastic, so you agree. You both clean the wagon, and after a while it's as beautiful as it was to start out. You start walking with the wagon, and living, and all the while you're talking. You learn more about him and his story. You realize how fantastic he is. You can't imagine your life without him after a while.

Finally, He takes the wagon completely from you. You realize that He saved your life and you want to give everything to Him that you can, so every book you complete you give to Him. Your wagon merges with His wagon, and it's just the two of you walking, side-by-side. Sometimes you get a story that's sad or you make a mistake, but you know He still loves you and that He forgives you. You give all of these stories to Him, too. You and He become great pals. You never go anywhere without Him and He never leaves you.

Then one day, you see someone walking that has a wagon full of books. You remember what it was like without this Guy beside you. You look at Him and He looks at you. He smiles and then leads you to the person with the wagon.

[Image Source: http://miniature-gardening.com/garden-tools/wagons-wheelbarrows/c-4_47/]

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Becoming A Candle

Multiple times this week I have received very, VERY wonderful praise. It has been definitely been amazing hearing such incredible things from such incredible people. The things that have been said to me I didn't expect.

Basically, this week I have been called "magnificent", "the humble servant", "a girl that not just anyone should be able to be with", "amazing", and "powerful". By FOUR different people. I mean, wow.

It startled me. Here I am, this ordinary girl just trying to become the-best-version-of-herself as Matthew Kelly would say, and suddenly all these extraordinary people are calling ME extraordinary.

They call me amazing, but really I'm not. In reality my God is amazing, and apparently His light is shining through me. I am the candle and my Father is the flame. I am only the food for the flame, and He is the light that expels the dark and shines over all else.

It makes me so impossibly happy to know that people can see my Father through me. My Father is the bomb, guys. I want to share Him with everyone, and I guess I must be doing something right because people can see Him! Silly me is becoming the doorway to the most wonderful Person in the universe.

I'm not trying to sound proud, so I apologize if it's coming out like that. But wow.

I am becoming a candle. I still have far to go, but I am becoming a candle--HIS candle!

A huge thank you I everyone who has been with me and guided me on my path to candle hood!! I love you all!!!

Saturday, August 25, 2012

St. Joseph: A Hero

"A hero is a person who, no matter how hard, does what he knows to be right." The King in "VeggieTales: The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything"

I fear that true heroes and heroines are far and few in between. I am definitely not a heroine and have met very few true heroes/heroines.

But I would like to tell you a story.

There was once a young woman, a very, very long time ago. She became engaged to be married, and, as was the custom, her fiancé had 1 year to build a house and create the means to provide for them. During this year, the young woman conceived a child. When her fiancé discovered he decided to divorce her, but had mercy and decided to do it quietly.

Before he could, though, an angel appeared to him and explained. "Your fiancée," said the angel," is carrying no earthly child, but the Son of the Lord. He will open again the gates of heaven to the world." The man was puzzled, so the angel continued, "The Lord chose this sinless virgin to be the mother of His Son. She is perfect, pure, and brave. She will be Hid mother, and you will be His earthly father." Though the man did not fully understand, he believed what the angel had said to him, and accepted the young woman and her Child.

The woman, of course, is Mary and the man is Joseph. All dialogue is improvised, in case you hadn't noticed, by the way.

Joseph, I have decided is a hero. He was an imperfect person doing a perfect thing. He wasn't sure about the whole "my future wife is pregnant with another man's baby even if she's still a virgin and she's the mother of the Son of God" thing, but in his heart he knew the angel was real and spoke the truth. He stayed with Mary, they were married (at some point), and he accepted Mary's Son as his own. When the child, Jesus, was born Joseph was his earthly father. He loved Him and cared for Him and taught Him things, like any father would do.

Joseph was a hero. He wasn't sure about all of it, but he knew that the right thing to do was stay with Mary and protect her and her Child. So he did.



[Image Source: http://www.carmelite-seremban.org/sharings/archive.html]

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

The Unique Story

I've been having trouble writing lately. The past few posts have been rather forced, and you can probably tell from my writing if you pay attention to such things.

I guess I'm just going through one of those dry spells where you just see very little of note. I've tried to blog several times (probably 9 or 10) getting close to the end of a post, being unsatisfied, deleting, and beginning with a new topic. It's a vicious cycle, really.

Well, I'm going to force myself to write today because it'll be good for me. Get me back on track, you know. Let us begin!

Today in my chemistry class, we had 5 minutes left. My teacher randomly started asking questions about ourselves. People were talking so loud it was easy to not listen, get distracted, and then suddenly the teacher was repeating the question to you four thousand times.

"What's the thing you like most about yourself?"

Oh starfish, how I loathe that question. If I answer, I feel vain. If I don't answer, I feel like I give myself no credit at all.

Being quite taken aback, and stuttered, "Um... I don't really know, honestly. Probably my hair, though. I like my hair." The bell rang. School was over for the day.

I walked out to the bus, thinking on this. I do like my hair. For those of you that haven't seen it, all I really have to say is "think Tangled". I have rather long, quite golden, blonde hair. Definitely my signature attribute, no doubt. But is it really what I like most about myself?

No. No, I don't think it is.

After thinking about it more, I've decided that the thing I like most about myself is my story.

I will not bore you with details of my story, but my story is unique, special, and it has made me who I am today. My story will never end, and began thousands of years ago the moment God decided, "I'm going to create the universe". My story began in that moment and has been inadvertently made possible by all of my ancestors. See, there's my prologue.

My chapters are myself and myself alone. My story is full of people, some good and some not-so-good; family, love, good times, bad times, days with friends, and days without them, betrayals and forgiveness, beginnings and endings, hurts and healing, sins and redemption. Without the first sixteen chapters and that prologue unique to me and only me, I would not be who I am today. Without this sixteenth chapter, I could not be who I'm supposed to be in Chapter Seventeen, or Eighteen, or Nineteen, or Forty.

God is writing the story of my life, and I am quite happy that He is the author.

And one day, that final chapter will receive it's final period, exclamation mark, or question mark, and the epilogue will begin. My epilogue will be part of someone else's prologue. I will be someone else's aunt and someone's mother and someone's wife.

I don't know what the rest of Chapter Sixteen will hold, but the pen is in the hands of the best author in the world, and the One who created the world, for that matter. I know the rest of my story will be pretty cool if someone as amazing as God is holding the pen.

My story, all the intricate words and paper and hands and bodies and eyes and feelings and souls that have affected me, is unique. We all have our own stories, and I am quite proud of mine, even with the mistakes and the streaks of tears I've probably caused God to weep upon the book of my soul.

So now I know what to say next time someone poses the question. I will no doubt confuse everyone within earshot, but that's kind of what I'm always doing, so it's all good.

Picture Source: http://www.writerslobby.com/




Thursday, August 16, 2012

The Back-To-School Post

My first day of school was Tuesday. Wow. I can't believe it. I'm a junior. This year holds many things for me. Graduation tests (although, if I've passed all my EOCT's, I don't have to take, and I have passed them), the SAT, my driver's liscence, Prom (if I decide to go), Homecoming (if I decide to go to this one, too), and the final year before my senior year in high school! Wow. I have a full year planned. I'm starting to look at colleges (I'm pretty sure I want to go to Georgia Southern) and I'm starting to think about a future career (I'm pretty sure I'm going to major in French and English). I'm siked. Getting back into the school mood has been rather easy. This year, I have 2 AP classes all year, so I have more homework than I did last year, but it's all good. I like the classes and the teachers and the work. I like all my teachers and classes. Okay, the Cat Lady Chemistry teacher could perhaps be a little more fun, but she's interesting and a bit different, so it's okay! She even has 5 kittens she's adopted in her classroom. They're really little, so she bottlefeeds them and lets us hold them before or towards the end of class if we get our work done (which really isn't a lot). I'm in Advanced Chorus this year, too. Pretty excited! I'm ready for challenging stuff (like one of Eric Whitacre's a capella pieces! Or maybe some of the old Masses!). Did I mention my brother and I are now at the same school? We don't really see each other, but next year we probably will more than we do now. He's a freshman. Wow. Is he really that old? Oh, school. Awesome classes and teachers and homework (no sarcasm intended) and knowledge to be attained! I've almost completed my first week of school. I'm exhausted, but learning and having fun. Of course God is here. Who do you think keeps me company in the 4 classes I don't know anyone? And at lunch. And before school. And on part of the bus ride home. And in betweeen classes. Of course I'm still keeping up that prayer life of mine; I wouldn't desert it for the world. It's been strange coming from a summer where the only place I heard a cuss word was in a movie to a school year where I commonly hear the "f-word" about 10 times within a 2 minute span of time. Let's not even get into all the other stuff at school. But I've got God, and, more importantly, God's got me. I'll be great. Wow. I love school.

Saturday, August 11, 2012

Spiritual Adoption

Every day 4000 US children are murdered because of a horror we call "abortion". Every day 4000 unborn children are subject to excruciating pain before their death. Every day the lives of 4000 babies are cut short. These babies will never breathe their own air, snuggle with their dads, play with their friends and siblings, see the sun, or unleash their hidden potential. These opportunities are snatched from them. We wonder how we can save these children.

After Roe vs. Wade 30 years ago, Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen introduced the concept of "spiritual adoption". For nine months you pray specifically for one of these unborn children. Although we do not know who our child is, God does, and perhaps one day, in Heaven, we will be able to meet this child.

Everyday 4000 of God's sons and daughters are murdered. Prayer does make a difference. If you could save even 1 of these children, wouldn't you?

There are programs everywhere for religious education classes, parishes, youth groups, pregnancy centers, and everything in between. These programs send monthly updates to the spiritual parents about how their spiritual baby is growing, normally written from the baby's perspective. You can even name your spiritual child.

The only requirement for spiritual adoption is that you pray. Pray for the safety of the baby and the baby's parents and family.

This opportunity was made known to me about 2 years ago. It has popped up multiple times since then. Today, I am making the decision to help one of these 4000 children. Her name is Rosemary Claire. Over the next nine months you will be updated on her progress. Be prepared.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I love you very much. I beg you to spare the life of [baby’s name] the unborn baby that I have spiritually adopted who is in danger of abortion.”
- Prayer of Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen

And did you know that today is the feast day of St. Clare of Assisi? As she said, "Totally love Him, Who gave Himself totally for your love." What better way to show my love for Him than to attach myself to one of His most precious daughters?

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Brothers vs. Boys

My sister posted a sign above her bed. The sign says: NO BOYS ALLOWED ON MY BED

Of course the youngest of us, Cricket, was on her bed in a heartbeat after she made the announcement to the family. She cried. And she cried even harder when my mom said," Sam, brothers and boys are not the same thing."

Sam did not see the truth in that statement.

Perhaps it sounds strange, but I, for one, do not want to date, court, or marry a boy.

Boys imply immaturity, irresponsibility, and an undeveloped emotional and spiritual mind. Age does not determine maturity, I believe, and so just because age deems a male a man, it does not mean he isn't a boy at mind.

There is a reason that monks are called brothers. It is because a brother is supposed to respect and honor his sisters and mother. A brother knows his sisters and treats them with the respect they deserve. He honors his mother. A brother also respects his fellow brothers and his father.

By brothers and sisters, I do not s ply mean biological siblings; I mean spiritual siblings, too. I feel the same way about girls vs. sisters as I do about boys vs. brothers. I do not want to be a girl. I want to be a sister.

By this point, you're probably thinking that I am completely nuts. Maybe you're right. I don't think it changes the point that if you "want a worthy man? Choose your brother."

Okay, that sounded a little weird, but I think you get the point.

Brothers > Boys

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Ten Months: Month 2 Recap

I honestly cannot believe it's August. July flew by. I am 1/5th of the way into my journey. Now that the third month has begun, I am on the third virtue: obedience. This will definitely be interesting.

July really was quite wonderful. I added The Little Office of the Blessed Virgin into my life and said the Rosary more times I can count and tried to humble myself.

To be utterly honest with you, I am a very proud person. I don't know that it's a trait people see often, but I am. To be humble is very hard for me. Not in a "be kind and polite way" but rather in a "I deserve to be seen" way.

I do not think I have failed, but I do think I could have improved further. I guess it's good I have rest of my life to improve upon this.

Now that I am continuing on with obedience, I think being humbled more is definitely in my future.

July has been great though. Even if my humility didn't make a huge indentation in the month, my relationships with God and our Mother have flourished. I have grown so much closer to the both of them. I am so happy to know 120% that they are beside me always, especially during times that can be worrisome and unsettling.

I also turned 16 in July, so that was pretty great. So, now as I begin my month of obedience, here's a picture of Francois, the pet rock!