Home for the Holidays

So I’m sitting here after a 5-hour shift at work watching the snow flutter down outside my window.  The roads are terrible.  It hasn’t stopped snowing for two days.  I was up at the St. Joseph Formation Center this weekend on a Young Adult CYE.  It snowed all day on Sunday.  I love the idea of snow- driving in it, not so much.  While everyone was out playing broom ball on the lake, I just had some quiet time  (with Fr.’s new puppy!  Gah!) staring out the huge picture window in Club G.

It made me think about the question everyone asks this time of year: “So, what are you doing for Christmas?”

My standard answer is, with some fervor and excitement, “Go to Mass!” or “CHURCH!” because that’s what needs to happen.   I’ve been celebrating Christmas for the last few years by spending it by myself and going to Mass.

This, for some odd reason, evokes pity from all who hear it, and goes something like this:

“You mean you’re not going to see your family?”

“Nope.”

“They’re not coming to see you?”

“Nope.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, that’s too bad.”

The conversation usually ends there before I get a chance to explain myself.

Well, gentle reader, here we are, and I have some explaining to do.

Barring any extremely intimate details about my parents, there are several reasons I prefer to spend Christmas (and Thanksgiving and Easter) on my own.  As I look back on all the past Christmases of my childhood, I realize what a spoiled, ungrateful brat I was as a child (and still am, to some degree).  Holidays weren’t great for my dad when he was growing up, so my mother had to walk on eggshells around him.  She put such an emphasis on making everything perfect that it stressed all of us out.  To this day, unless it’s my kitchen, I stay the hell out until asked, and even then, I’m wary. 

As a child, Christmas was entirely about the presents and not about Christ.  It was about mistletoe and Christmas cards.  A Precious Moments Nativity Scene with bunny rabbits in it.  Bing Crosby and truckloads of cookies.  We might have gone to Mass somewhere in there, but the main focus was not the Nativity in our house.  It was less about spending time with one another, and more about all the presents I could possibly receive, and each year, it got bigger and bigger- kind of like how Dudley throws a tantrum that he got fewer presents than the year before. 

This is why I love the way my family does it now.  Me, my brother and his family, and my aunt & uncle get together sometime in January for “Christmas.”  No one cooks- we usually have Chinese.  There is a small gift exchange, but we mostly sit around playing board games and enjoy one another’s company.  There is no pressure to “be on our best behavior” or anything.  It’s awesome.  I love it.  We all love and accept one another as we are.  If this is how your family Christmas has always been, consider how freaking lucky you are.  It’s completely alien to me. 

When I was a youth minister in Sheboygan, though, I started doing something on Thanksgiving and Christmas: I started spending them alone (GLORIOUS for an introvert).  I’d make a sit-down feast of my favorites, pour some merlot, put on some quiet music, and enjoy the peace and quiet as I stared out my window at the snow.

Now some might read that last paragraph and experience heartache.  How depressing.

Balderdash.  I.  LOVED.  IT.

I really do enjoy being alone sometimes, and this was kind of a special treat that I allowed myself.  Don’t get me wrong, I love spending time with my family, but it can get overwhelming.  I also feel that each has their own family that they should be spending time with instead of worrying about including me.  Because when I have a family of my own, I'll want to be with just them.

So anyways, as I sat there that first year contemplating my wine, I felt incredibly grateful to be spending the holiday alone in silence.  Why?  Because I knew that I wouldn’t be able to do that as soon as I had a family.  Do you know how impossible it is to have a moment’s peace when you have one child, let alone 20?  Heh.  This opportunity will never happen again! 

What a beautiful gift to receive: to focus solely on Jesus in the Eucharist and then the gorgeous silence of the rest of the day.  Love love love.  To be silent in the manger with the Baby.  Precious.

This year’s the same.  And it’ll be awesome.  An awesome opportunity to think of and pray for my future spouse and our children who will make our holidays a huge, fun, noisy blast of awesome.  I can’t wait.

But this year, I will.  What a great gift.

Merry Christmas.

Ite ad Joseph

Hark! my lover–here he comes springing across the mountains, leaping across the hills.  My lover is like a gazelle or a young stag.  Here he stands behind our wall, gazing through the windows, peering through the lattices. My lover speaks; he says to me, “Arise, my beloved, my dove, my beautiful one, and come! For see, the winter is past, the rains are over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth, the time of pruning the vines has come, and the song of the dove is heard in our land. The fig tree puts forth its figs, and the vines, in bloom, give forth fragrance. Arise, my beloved, my beautiful one, and come!  O my dove in the clefts of the rock, in the secret recesses of the cliff, Let me see you, let me hear your voice, For your voice is sweet,
and you are lovely.” -Song of Songs 2:8-14  (Daily Mass, Saturday)

And do this because you know the time; it is the hour now for you to awake from sleep. For our salvation is nearer now than when we first believed; the night is advanced, the day is at hand. Let us then throw off the works of darkness [and] put on the armor of light; let us conduct ourselves properly as in the day, not in orgies and drunkenness, not in promiscuity and licentiousness, not in rivalry and jealousy. But put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the desires of the flesh. - Romans 13:11-14  (Morning prayer, Sunday)

This is how the birth of Jesus Christ came about.  When his mother Mary was betrothed to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found with child through the Holy Spirit.  Joseph her husband, since he was a righteous man, yet unwilling to expose her to shame,  decided to divorce her quietly. Such was his intention when, behold, the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary your wife into your home.  For it is through the Holy Spirit that this child has been conceived in her. She will bear a son and you are to name him Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.”  All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet:  Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel, which means “God is with us.”  When Joseph woke up, he did as the angel of the Lord had commanded him and took his wife into his home. 
-Matthew 1:18-24 (Gospel for Sunday, and focus of Lectio)


Joseph woke up.

I think it's interesting how Joseph can personify our relationship with the Blessed Mother and Jesus.  The only one in the family who is able to sin, is prone to weakness and doubt, and must feel a huge burden on his shoulders because he knows what sort of precious treasure he has in Mary.

I can imagine him struggling to want to do the right thing- to obey the laws of Moses, but at the same time wanting to put Mary through nothing that will be contrary to her dignity.  the pain he must've felt at this perceived moment of infidelity from a creature without blemish must have shattered his world.  Not many things are as emasculating to a man as unfaithfulness.  It proves that he's not good enough; he doesn't have what it takes.

I sometimes think of all the millions of things that were running through Joseph's head.  As one who is more inclined to silence, I can identify with this.  Just because my mouth is shut doesn't mean that my brain turns off.  So all these thing: the fears, doubts, inclination to sin, were battling against his righteousness.  A spiritual Battle of Battles.

Enter Gabriel.  A divine moment of clarity for a troubled mind and anxious heart.

Truth.  Truth enters and floods our soul with reassurance, encouraging us and telling us to fear nothing, that we can do it.  That we shouldn't believe the lies.  And Joseph emerges, victorious.  The victory already won by Christ, Who chose him as a foster father from the beginning of time (MIND BLOWN).  And, suddenly, like Joseph, we are the sleeper who awakes, who walks out of darkness to follow the Light and obey the Truth on a fruitful path that is difficult but worthwhile.  

We are no longer the scared child who grabs to control the situation, but a precious child of God who responds with haste and urgency when He bids us,

"Arise, my beloved, and come."

O, most glorious St. Joseph, we most humbly beg of you, by the love and care you had for Jesus and Mary, to take our affairs, both spiritual and temporal, into your hands.  Direct them to the greater glory of God, and obtain for us the grace to do His most holy will.  St. Joseph the Worker, pray for us. 

St. Joseph, patron of my beloved and my future family, pray for us. 

Knit Wit

Morning, dear reader.

So. I've been on a Lord of the Rings (movie) kick lately, so I'm sure there will be some posts coming up about the "unveiling of Arwen" (one of my favorite moments in the movie) and thoughts about how we all want to be Aragorn (when we're really Frodo).  Then, there's also been an influx of the most sparkling, resplendently gorgeous snowfall recently, so I'm thinking about a "scarlet2snow" post as well.  And, yes, I have read the books.

However, lately, I'd rather knit that write. Proof?

 

I've been working on this set of handwarmers, hat, and scarf for almost forever.  The hat I finished back during the summer, the handwarmers were next.  The scarf is still in the making, and all I have to do is seam it up and sew on the buttons.  I'm a bit sick of it, though.

 Bought this yarn a while back because I LOVE Kelly green.  Especially for St. Patrick's Day.  No other green will do.  It has to be Kelly green.  Whelp, found out that a friend's favorite color is green and cranked this out in 3 days for Christmas.  Really simple pattern with big yarn.  Goes by fast.  Prolly make a similar one for myself soon.

Another friend saw the green hat and asked if I could make him one.  If you can't tell, my head is swimming in this one because his head measures 29" around!  Polished this one off in about 4 hours.  Same pattern, bulkier yarn.

Had this idea for a while now.  Working on it.

 This scarf.  Easy pattern, finally comfy enough with my fingers to get them into a rhythm with the stitches (I've only been knitting for a little less than a year).  Will also make matching hat.

Yay!

Weavers, knitters, whatever.

St. Lucy and St. Nicholas, ora pro nobis!

The Giver

I detest fads.

I abhor trends.

I wretch at the sound of buzzwords.

I’m sitting here scribbling with The Fellowship of the Ring in the background after a day of doing nothing but pray, play guitar, chug orange juice, and laze about.  I practiced a few songs, but I didn’t sing.  I’m getting over a cold.  Anyways.

I’ve noticed something recently.  And, by recent, I mean within the past 3 months.  Since finishing CYE, I’ve definitely become increasingly self-aware.  I find this incredibly helpful in the way of dealing with and tempering my own behavior and learning about others. 

It began, I think, as most of these things do, with a standardized test.  Where, you might ask?  Well, over at Catholic Match which, by the way, I do not endorse.  It’s full of creepers, psychotics, liars, and lukewarm Catholics (some of you might be thinking that I’d fit right in).  *shudder* It’s not a great place for me to meet my spouse, I’ve decided, after encountering a few horror stories.  Ick.  I’ve always had a steadfast aversion to “online dating,” but after my uncle, a handful of friends, and TWO PRIESTS recommended it, I figured, ah, what the hell?

Well, it was hell.  I’ll never do that again.  I wish I could post what I had on my profile.  It was quite hilarious, and holy, and challenging, and intimidating.  Made of the stuff of any online-junkie’s nightmares.  ESTO VIR!  Mwahahahah.

Anyways.  One of the perks was that I got to take a temperament test, and that’s when I found out that I am a melancholic/choleric.  The next (my second) summer with CYE and Sister really confirmed it.  I’ve always wanted to read more about it, but I couldn’t find any books.  If you’ve any recommendations, please let me know.  However, what’s out there (ie, wikipedia, etc) is SPOT ON.  And what do I do with things that are SPOT ON?  I pay attention.  It’s truth, and, for lack of a better phrase, it just makes sense.  Large crowds of people exhaust me, I much rather prefer one-on-one time or small groups of five or less, depending on their temperaments.  I need copious amounts of time alone ("backstage") recovering from when I’m "onstage" and my choleric is roaring.  I can be extremely loud, obnoxious, entertaining, and the center of attention in a large group, but things are more meaningful if I spend quiet one-on-one time with a friend and we’re barely even talking, because I don't have this overwhelming urge to be "on" for them; I can just be myself.

Ok, anyways.  So that’s been a fun road to travel: figuring out that HEY, it’s more than ok to want to be by myself.  It’s normal for me to be exhausted after being extroverted, and it’s OK to be angry (it’s what I do with the anger that counts). 

Moving on.  Well, actually, no.  We’re gonna go back.  We have to go forward to go back.  We must press on.

So, back when I was getting my secondary education license in college, we took the Myers Briggs Type Indicator personality test.  Like most who are in their early 30s, I’m now pretty much the antithesis of how I was in college.  When I was 25ish, I was an ENTJ:  Extroversion Intuition Thinking Judging.  I think I answered out of love of being the center of attention.  I didn’t pay attention to how it exhausted me because that wasn’t “normal.”  Also, I wasn’t very self-reflective back then. 

Heh.  I am now.

I retook the test about a year ago.  Surprise!  I’m an INTJ.  If you compare INTJ and ENTJ, there’s not much difference.  Instead of King Theoden, I’m King Elrond.

One thing’s for damn sure, though, my motto is “work smarter, not harder.”  I need to find the most efficient way to complete a task and then do it quickly.  That’s what kind of drives me at work- the fastest and best way.  I really think I need to look into this bit more.

Speaking of the best way, my gentle reader, have you read The Four Loves by CS Lewis?  No?  Well, go do it, NOW; it’s spectacular.  It talks about the four types of love:

Storge: affection

Philios: friendship

Eros: romance

Agape: self-sacrifice

These have been rolling around in my head for a while now.  I finished the book last spring, and I’ve been thinking, ever since: how do I show love to others, and how do I receive love?  (And, obviously, I’m not just talking about Eros here.  That’s pretty much reserved for my future spouse.  I’m talking about the other three.)

Well, Holy Spirit, Batman, because the same question popped up in my inbox a while ago.  God is hilarious like that.  And this got me thinking:  Hey, wait a minute.  Wasn’t there some huge deal about this a while back?  Something about “love languages” or something?

And I immediately shuddered.  Because there is.  There’s a book out there.  And I’ve avoided it forever.  I hate books like that.  Ack.  No.  Too much to esplain.  Well, anyways, I thought I’d give it a shot and find out the “love language” that I speak; how I give love.  But au contraire, mon ami.  Eet ees zee language een wheech I receive zee love. 

And it beings, of course, with a standardized test. 

Isn’t our society ridiculous!?

Anyways, after 30 preferential, “would you rather” questions, the obvious conclusion is:

Quality time: 11, Affirmation: 9, Touch: 7, Gifts: 2, Service: 1.

Big freakin surprise there.

Heh.  Anyways, this sent my brain a-bubbling, I already know what makes me “feel” loved.  But I know better.  Love is not a feeling.  Love is an act of the will.  When I love someone, there’s this overwhelming urge to act, and act quickly, intentionally, and sincerely on that love, or, as Mumford would say: with urgency but not with haste.   

So.  What do I choose to do to show love?  Simple.

 I’m a giver, and a persistent one at that.

 I give.  I have so much love to give.  I could give and give and give and give until I puke coat hangers.  And, even then, I’d clean one off and give it to you.

But you know what?  Most people have no idea how in the hell to respond to this.  Some people (and these people are very few and far between) can read this language immediately and call me out on it, which is pretty much the most awesome thing ever.  I love it when people can understand this language.  That encourages me to keep giving love to them.  The “problem” is that I have so much to give, and there is no end or exhaustion in sight, and people can find that a trifle overwhelming.  Most people don’t want me to love them.  They say things like “You don’t need to do that.”  “I’m not as good as you think.”  “Why do you keep giving me stuff?”  “I don’t deserve this.”  And on and on and on and on and on.  There’s brokenness, fear, and even frustration and anger sometimes, like I might hold it over a person’s head.

But I don’t.  I don’t want anything back from you other than to see the look of delight on your face.  That’s all.  And if you’re not delighted, who cares? 

But most people just don’t understand.  If I find someone interesting, my mind and heart go into overdrive.  I want to know all about then, give them my attention, learn them, grow from and with them.  Make them holy, and get them to Heaven.

Then.  Then I want them to see how beautiful they are and how much they are loved and appreciated for who they are.  And then challenge them to step up and become more of what God created them to be.  All the while giving giving giving more more more. 

“Too much.”

People don’t want me to love them.

Rejection sucks.

In the past, I’ve just wanted to shake some of them by the shoulders and say:

 

"You are worthy of love.  You are.  You are worthy of respect and affection and admiration, and, by God, I’m gonna give it to you whether you like it or not."

 

I’m not the gentlest of creatures.  Heh.  I’m pretty intimidating and forceful at times.  I’m trying to work on that.  But, most can’t handle it, so they leave.

It’s such a pity.  Of course, Satan has a field day with this and makes me turn back in on myself, but right now none of that is happening, so I can reason clearly.

The ones who can handle the deluge at the beginning learn that it tapers off a little (as my zeal wanes a bit), but it’s still there.  And it might show up in random, overwhelming bursts.  When I love someone, I’m suddenly reminded of that person and how something would fill them with delight, and then BAM, I’m doing that.

I love checklists.

Examples:

Early on in our friendship, one of the questions that I will undoubtedly ask you is, “What’s your favorite color?”  Seems trite, I know, but it’s crucial.  I’m assured that (pretty much), no matter what my gift is, you will delight in it somehow if it includes your favorite color.

The first thing I usually give is a hand-made St. Michael Chaplet.  Why?  Because St. Michael is one of my favorite patrons of all time.  I love him.   And I love you.  And I want you to love him, too.  We are warriors in the same battle, and I want to equip you with this powerful weapon.  And hey, if you don’t want to pray it or are a pagan who hates St. Michael, it’s all good, because here’s a pretty chaplet I made for you in your favorite color.  I’ll most likely make you a rosary, too.  Same idea as the chaplet.  I love Our Mother.  And I want you to love her, too, even if it’s just by holding her hand when you carry your rosary in your pocket.  And hey, if you don’t pray it, it’s ok because you like it…. Because it’s your favorite color.

After your favorite color, I’ll try to learn more of your favorites: hobbies, books, movies, music, saints, prayers, food, ALL the THINGS!  And then I’ll give them to you or make suggestions to you.  This isn’t just to find out more about you, but to also find patrons for you.  For instance, who is the patron saint of swimming? (Adjutor of Vernon)  Or ballroom dancing? (Genesius)  Or photography?  (Veronica)  I’m also delighted when I’m out and about and the Holy Spirit decides to randomly remind me of you… through your favorites. 

I love to take photos.  When I’m looking through my lens, I feel incredibly close to the LORD and experience His beauty in a very profound way.  I will take gorgeous pictures of, around, and for you and then give them to you somehow. 

I will give you my undivided attention: no tv, no cell phone.  Nothing.  Nothing but you and me.

I will pray and make sacrifices for you, especially during Consecration at Mass.

I will sing to/with you.  Either along with the radio or rockin out on the ukebox.  (Being serenaded is my favorite).  Or, even better, when I feel comfy enough, I will sing the Salve or any other hymn with you.

I will start to give you my favorites, which include books, nice pens, journals, music, the color red, anything to do with my favorite authors or patrons, and these depictions of the Blessed Mother and Holy Family.  I am delighted by these things; they draw me close to the Lord, and I’ll get blasted with a double dose if I see you delighting in them, too.  Don’t use them or read them?  No problem.  It’s my favorite.  I want to give you my favorite.  My best.  So you can have it. 

I will cook an amazing meal for you just to see the look on your face as you take the first and last bites.  This, I think, almost more than anything else, I love doing.  I love feeding people.  Love it.  I couldn’t wait for my turn to prepare the Thursday night dinner at Bethany House.  Love it.  Even if it’s just pancakes or grilled cheese or caprese or MY FAVORITE PINEAPPLE UPSIDE DOWN CAKE.  I can’t WAIT to feed my family.  I love being in the kitchen, and I LOVE making sandwiches (shutup.).  I hate doing the dishes, though. 

Lastly, and most importantly, I will write letters to you.  This one, and I have no idea why, puts a lot of people off, and it makes my heart sad.

I love to write.  I’ve been scribbling in a notebook ever since I read this glorious literary masterpiece in 4th (5th?) grade.  I have an extensive journal collection, an obscene amount of Dixon Ticonderoga pencils, and I prefer to write in my journals with these.  Writing to you allows me freedom from the anxiety of speaking in person.  Not that it causes much anxiety, but, this way, I can scribble and rethink and adjust my thoughts and cross out and go back and start over without sounding, looking, or feeling like a complete moron.  One of my favorites is to get mail, so of course I want to give you one of my favorites.  I want to give you something that you can go back to after you’ve had a crap day and, after reading, say to yourself, “Hey!  Enough of this foolishness!  I’m freakin’ awesome!  It says so right here!” 

And I don’t want you to be all like, “yeah!  Jen thinks I’m amazing.”

NO.

You ARE amazing.

In your own right, in your own way, in the way God created you to be.  It has nothing to do with me other than I’ve realized how beautiful and precious a human being you are, and I want you to realize it, too.  Some people recoil at this.  It’s very perplexing.  I don’t get it.

So that’s why I write letters, because writing is my favorite thing to do, and you’re one of my favorite people.  Favorites for my favorite.  It’s one of my best and favorite things, and I want you to have it.  And I do not expect anything back, but correspondence would freaking RULE.  But, it’s ok if you don’t because I’ve affirmed you by doing my favorite thing for you.

Are you beginning to see how this works? 

I really hope so.

So now, you’re prolly freakin out like ohmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGod.  This is too much too much too soon too soon I can’t handle it.  I don’t deserve it.

Yes.  It is overwhelming, but fear not, it’ll ebb and flow.  It’ll calm down.  It’ll spring back up.  It’ll fade.  It’ll blaze.

But it won’t go away.  It’s me.  It’s how I give love.

And you deserve it.  You do.  If I thought you undeserving, you wouldn’t be receiving it.

Just let me love you.  Just let me.

When people reject this love from me, I feel more united to Christ than at any other time.  I know it doesn’t even come close, but I can imagine the look on His face or the ache in His most Sacred Heart when He gives people His best, and they (I) say, “No, no, no.  It’s too much.  Too soon.  I can’t handle it.”  Because my heart aches.  It aches to give love, and people don't want it.

We’re so thoroughly trained by the world to stab ourselves with a double-edged sword: I’m too much, but I’m never enough.  We’re scared little children who are afraid of being indebted to an angry parent-figure.

And He shakes His sublime Head at us, scoops us up, and says, “Just let me love you.  Just let me.”

Pulchritude

This:

And this:

Then this:

Don't forget this:

   

And this one:

 

This one, too:

   

  Also, this:

And, of course, this:

   

And, for good measure, this:

   

And, finally, this:

 

My heart, it aches.

Number 9, Extra Love

Ok.  So.  True story.

A while back before I left Sheboygan to start the CYE Missionary Internship in what, May of 2011, I was praying it up for my future husband.  I felt very called to give something up.  Yep.

Well, I'd just recently given up Burger King and Jimmy Johns for Lent (whilst also reading all of the Vatican II documents).  Let's just get this straight.

I LOVE JIMMY JOHNS.

I'd decided to give it up for Lent that year when I found myself getting lunch there more than three times one week.  So, naturally, I had to give it up.

Well Easter rolled around, and I was at it again.  So, I was praying for my future husband like normal, and this idea to sacrifice something just popped into my head.  so, I asked Jesus:

"What should I give up?"

The answer?  "Jimmy Johns."

"Jimmy Johns?  No.  Anything but that."
"Jimmy Johns."
"Ok, but only for a little while, right?"
"No."
"How long?"
"Until you're engaged."
"WHAT?!?!?!?!111oneoneone"
"Jimmy Johns."
*Harrrrumph*  "OK.  But I'm going for the last supper right now."

"I see what you did there.  Fine.  Then, nothing."
"Fine."

So, I drove over to Jimmy Johns and walk in to be greeted by some teen hipster behind the counter.  The conversation ensued thusly:
"Hi.  Welcome to Jimmy Johns."
"Hi.  Number 9, no onion, no oil, extra love."
"Why the extra love?" He chuckled.
"This is the last one I'll have for a very long time."
"Really?  Why's that?"
"I'm giving it up for my future husband."
The kid shoots me a look that crosses the line between bewilderment and panic and replies, "WHY WOULD ANYONE EVER MAKE YOU DO THAT?!?!" as if the cosmos was going to explode or that I had an evil boyfriend somewhere oppressing me.
"No one's making me do this.  I'm choosing it freely," I answered calmly.  (Love is an act of the will.)
Hipster boy makes me the delicious sub then chucks it at me while trying to convince me:
"This is gonna be the best night of your life."
As I pluck the sub gracefully from the air, I retort:

"No.  But my WEDDING NIGHT will be."

I turned around and heard his jaw hit the floor as I walked out.

EPIC WIN.

However.

One of my friends sent me a Christmas present some months later, and she didn't know about my Jimmy Johns fast.  She sent me a gift card.  GAH!  Well, I didn't want to send it back.  Besides, it was only $10.  Perhaps I could buy something small and get change back.  That's what usually happens.  So, I went to the nearest one in Appleton and explained my plight.  The high school n00b behind the counter said I could prolly buy a cookie and then get change.  Well then, out of the recesses of the back room comes the manager.  I explain it all again, and I'm just about crying.  I don't want to waste the gift, and I don't want to break the fast.  Well, manager says they can't give change back.  And I say, "I really can't eat here.  I just can't," and I'm almost crying.  My heart, it ached.

GAH!

So, about a week later, I was so distracted by it that I decided just to get it over with.  I got 2 subs: one for lunch and one for dinner.  And, if there's a world record for fastest time consuming a Jimmy Johns sub, I think I hold it.  I didn't enjoy eating them, and I felt horrible after.  Gah!  *shakes fist*

Good news.  I've been Jimmy Johns free since then- and most everyone knows about my fast.  This is much like my aversion to hugging, but a little different.  Some tease because they're jerks who think I'm ridiculous. 

Well, I am.  I'm crazy about my future spouse, and I (will) love him more than Jimmy Johns.  And this is just a way of preparing me for marriage.  I can't have what I want all the time, and I'm going to have to give things up.  For him.  For us.

Totally worth it.

Happily (and technically (due to circumstances beyond my control)) Jimmy Johns free since May 17, 2011.

UPDATE:

Jimmy John's fast ended at approximately 5:47pm on April 6, 2015 due to becoming ENGAGED on Easter Sunday, April 5, 2015!

St. Thomas Aquinas, St. Joseph, and St. Rita, PRAY FOR US!

Destroyer of Heresies

Want to know an instant cure for melancholy?

Confession.

Specifically, Confession with Fr. Luke Strand.

I must admit, one of my last posts was a trifle weepy.  I’d like to justify it by saying that life is just puking on me right now.  But, that’s really not half the story.

There’s all this rubbish that’s deciding to surface itself from my childhood.

And before you run, pell-mell, screaming in the opposite direction, hear me out.  We all have our own childhood traumas, and we get over them (or not), and some of us are better at hiding them than others.  However, some things have been sticking with me lately that I just can’t seem to get over.

Until now.

For the past few months, I’ve just felt really angry about the way I was brought up in the Faith.  This is mixed with disappointment I have towards my parents, and the irrational fear that I’ll be the same way interacting with my spouse and raising my kids.

Excuse me whilst I go laugh to death.  I can’t believe how irrational I am sometimes.  Irrational or not, the fear is still there.

Anyways.  It’s been festering for a while now.

Let’s explicate.

My Primary Fault is pride, and when my pride is hurt, I get angry.  And when I get angry, I sin- swearing, arrogance, selfishness, etc., heap on some more pride, etc.

But this anger was different.

I felt very justified in this anger.  Like it was righteous and completely founded.

But instead of letting it fly in and out of my heart, I let it schplock down right in the middle to fester.

A bit more.

If there was a condition for being addicted to anger, I think I’ve had it.

I’ve calmed down a whole heck of a lot since my pre-conversion days, but, like any addiction, it never fully goes away.

When I’m angry, there’s this little flame that glows in the pit of my stomach.  And, if given half a snowball’s change, it’ll erupt into fiery wall of death.  Gastrointestinal problems aside, it makes me feel invincible.  (I’d really like to study the science behind anger.  What the frick is my body doing to itself when I’m pissed?  I’m sure some endorphins are released somewhere, or whatever.)  Anyways.  I feel invincible (really similar to how I feel whilst listening to rap (LMAO) (even Christian rap) or Rammstein).  I’m powerful.  I’m in control.  No joke, my vocabulary skyrockets because I need to win arguments.  And be in control.  And be right.

And, the truth is, I was so far out of control at that point that I didn’t even realize it.  I just wanted to feel powerful.

I loved being angry.  It fueled a lot of the things that I did.  It helped fuel my writing.  It made me speak better, haughtier, and faster so people had a difficult time keeping up.   It made me ignore injury and exhaustion (or play off those things), and it made me win.  I find this hilarious now, because I’ve developed some sort of stutter and have a difficult time preparing an answer to a “deep question.”  And it gets in the way of wanting to answer immediately, intelligently, and correctly.  Ah, humility.

That’s what my addiction was- to the feeling of sheer invincibility- and I could have it any time I wanted.  I just had to choose to be angry about something and choose to stay angry about it. 

Most of the time, anger (well, remaining angry) is an act of the will.  Much like any other emotion, it’s what we do with it that counts.  We can choose to be joyful or fuming.  But which will make us (and others) more holy?  What will help get others to heaven?

Duh.  No-brainer.

But, it’s so difficult.  We’re all addicted to something that’s no good for us.

I think I’ve come a long way since the pre-conversion era in my life.  In figuring out that I’m a melancholic/choleric, I’ve found that it’s ok to be that way.  It’s better than ok; it’s how God created me to be.  To be sanctified and sanctifying for others by being the way that I am is difficult.  It’s also a struggle because I desire to be a true reflection of God, and it feels impossible to do, especially when I’m angry.

But Satan is a catchy tune in disguise, and the melody of this one is familiar and comforting.  ( I think I’m noticing a theme surface on this blog.)  Anyways.  I can’t be comforted like that anymore- it makes no sense.  This is also why I can’t and won’t listen to half the music I (used to) like.  I’m not invincible, and I shouldn’t do things that make me feel that way.  Well, besides shoot guns.  Heh.

Anyways.  The point.  The point is confusing.  This anger that I’ve been dealing with, and Thanksgiving is here and Christmas is around the corner, and all this poppycock that is going on… in the midst of all of this, I’ve realized how much of an ungrateful wretch I am.  I’m never grateful enough.  I’m selfish and self-seeking.  I’ve known this for a while, and I’ve been working on it by saying “thank you” and showing gratitude more.  But it’s not enough. 

I mean, seriously.  I’m in relatively good health.  I have a job and a car and I can practice my faith freely (for now). 

Thank God for that.

Fr. Jim (at MBS in Oshkosh) said something astounding during his homily yesterday.  He said that too often, we become so enraptured by and thankful for the created that we forget the Creator.

KAPOOYAH.  Aquinas would have my head.

There’s so much beauty in my life right now.  I’m just overwhelmed sometimes.  It’s bizarre because I’ve never been so emotional about beauty before this (specifically, before Catholicfest.  I blame Bryce Evans).  But, I get so lost in the beauty of the thing that I forget about Beauty Himself.

When I was a Missionary Intern, we learned a lot about our primary fault.  But we were also given a virtue to learn about and cultivate.  Mine was temperance.

Bahahahahah.  I found this all very fitting: temperance.  What do you do when you temper steel to make a sword?  You beat the hell out of it.  You beat the impurities away.  I feel like I’ve written about this before, but I don’t care.  So, we discussed how each of the seven capital sins is borne from a primary fault.

Sensuality: lust, sloth, & gluttony.

Vanity: covetousness & envy

Pride: pride and anger.

Sr. had us fill out a little survey to figure out our primary fault.  My score?

Sensuality: 3

Vanity: 1

Pride:  12.  A FREAKIN 12.   Out of 16.

Welp.  There’s yur problem.  That’ll just about do it.

So, who can help.

Enter the Blessed Virgin.  I love her so much.  My beautiful Mother.  She is the embodiment of the direct opposition to my primary fault.  She is humility.  Her humility defeated Satan.

Guess who taught Jesus how to be humble.  His Mother (and Foster Father).

MIND BLOWN.

Sometimes I forget that Jesus had to be formed.  He wasn’t just born into the world knowing everything:

From the Catechism of the Catholic Church:

Christ's soul and his human knowledge

471 Apollinarius of Laodicaea asserted that in Christ the divine Word had replaced the soul or spirit. Against this error the Church confessed that the eternal Son also assumed a rational, human soul.¹⁰⁰

472 This human soul that the Son of God assumed is endowed with a true human knowledge. As such, this knowledge could not in itself be unlimited: it was exercised in the historical conditions of his existence in space and time. This is why the Son of God could, when he became man, "increase in wisdom and in stature, and in favor with God and man",¹⁰¹ and would even have to inquire for himself about what one in the human condition can learn only from experience.¹⁰² This corresponded to the reality of his voluntary emptying of himself, taking "the form of a slave".¹⁰³

473 But at the same time, this truly human knowledge of God's Son expressed the divine life of his person.¹⁰⁴ "The human nature of God's Son, not by itself but by its union with the Word, knew and showed forth in itself everything that pertains to God."¹⁰⁵ Such is first of all the case with the intimate and immediate knowledge that the Son of God made man has of his Father.¹⁰⁶ The Son in his human knowledge also showed the divine penetration he had into the secret thoughts of human hearts.¹⁰⁷

474 By its union to the divine wisdom in the person of the Word incarnate, Christ enjoyed in his human knowledge the fullness of understanding of the eternal plans he had come to reveal.¹⁰⁸ What he admitted to not knowing in this area, he elsewhere declared himself not sent to reveal.¹⁰⁹

100 Cf. Damasus 1: DS 149.
101 Lk 2:52.
102 Cf. Mk 6 38; 8 27; Jn 11:34; etc.
103 Phil 2:7.
104 Cf. St. Gregory the Great, "Sicut aqua" ad Eulogium, Epist. Lib. 10, 39 PL 77, 1097A ff.; DS 475.
105 St. Maximus the Confessor, Qu. et dub. 66: PG 90, 840A.
106 Cf. Mk 14:36; Mt 11:27; Jn 1:18; 8:55; etc.
107 Cf. Mk 2:8; Jn 2 25; 6:61; etc.
108 Cf. Mk 8:31; 9:31; 10:33-34; 14:18-20, 26-30.
109 Cf. Mk 13:32, Acts 1:7.

Who taught Jesus how to wash feet?  His parents.

So, I submit for you now, my four favorite representations of the Blesed mother, and my all time favorite of the Holy Family.

The first is “The Annunciation” by Henry Ossawa Tanner.  I saw it up at Holy Family retreat house on Chambers Island during many of my college age work retreats.  Loved it instantly.  The simplicity and contrast are what get me.

Next, Mary, Mother of the Unborn. This representation isn’t a full-version of the painting, and I don’t know what the painting is called.  Anyways.  I found it in the gift shop of the Basilica of the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, on my first March for Life pilgrimage back in the day. I just LOVE the blue in this.  I love the stars in the window.  I love how young Mary looks.  I love that her womb is glowing.  This one has a special place in my heart.

Third: L’Innocence by Bouguereau.  I just love it.  Love it to death.  A Baby and a lamb.   Guess who taught Jesus how to hold the sheep in His arms?  MARY.

 

Lastly.  “Madonna and Child” by Carlo Maratta.  This is only a cropped version.  I found this holy card in Cathedral Book and Gift when I went to see George Weigel.  I immediately bought four of them.  This is my favorite of Jesus and Mary.  Why?  BECAUSE OF HIS FAT, LITTLE, BABY HEAD.  I just want to pet it.  Over and over and over and over.  And kiss it, and nuzzle it!  And breathe in His precious little Baby smell!

This.  This beauty is my favorite representation of the Holy Family.  It’s by Timothy P. Schmalz.  I saw it once on our road trip down to EWTN, and loved it instantly.  I love that St. Joseph is holding/protecting his Wife and Son.  So beautifully masculine.  I was in Goodwill with Corrie one day, and she randomly found it.  She’s always looking for Catholic Art, and she picked it up.  I just about FREAKED out when I came round the corner and saw what she was holding.  I paid five bucks for this, and it’s now  a book end on my shelf opposite another Schmaltz sculpture entitled “Maternal Bond.”

 Mama, please keep me under your mantle.  Help me be humble.  Help me look to you when I cross the threshold of my addiction.  Hold my hand and lead me.

My favorite titles for Our Lady:

Theotokos  (Christ Bearer.  Love me some Greek!)

Stella Maris  (Star of the Sea.  Love me some Latin!)

Seat of Wisdom (Aquinas dedicated the Summa to Her)

Our Lady of Victory (October 7^th has a special place in my heart).

Undoer of Knots

DESTROYER OF HERESIES.  (I just found this today!)

I love her I love her I  love her.  I love her silence and strength.  I love her perfection, her littleness.  How she leads me to Jesus.  How she gets me.  I love her.  And I love her Most Chaste Spouse and the way he Loves her.

Read The Mystery ofSt. Joseph by Fr. Marie-Dominique Phillipe if you want to fall in love with the Holy Spouse of the Blessed Virigin.

Mary, My Mother, Personification of Humility, pray for me.