Divine Secret of Motherhood

Life is lived in chapters, filled with ups and downs, crosses and blessings. Childhood. Junior High. High School. College. As I stared out onto the silvery lake this evening, I suddenly became aware that one Chapter is my life is getting ready to permanently close while a very permanent and foreign one is about to open.

Young women always look to their mother during practically every stage of their lives. Despite all the shared moments, a mother always has one thing on their daughter--their motherhood. Then that special time of motherhood arrives and, suddenly, it seems as though they share a divine secret. A Chapter they both can share with each other.

My life has always been about me. Even following marriage, I can come and go with my husband as we please. Dinner can be early or late and we can throw our suitcases in the car on a moment's notice to be whisked away on a vacation. Nothing was ever holding me back nor weighing on my mind. I am suddenly cognizant that this is going to change. We are not getting a dog, who can be put in the kennel nor will this precious life be with us for a few months or years. This person will be mine for the rest of my life. Worries, joys, happiness, all will be focused on my child.

It moves within me, squirming sometimes and other times just slip-sliding around slowly but deliberately. I am most aware of the humanity growing within me at these moments. In a matter of weeks, I will be holding that child and will be a forever changed person. I cannot imagine that, after looking into the face of your child, a woman is ever the same she was before. Life will forever be altered.

Yet, I feel the anticipation of a child--all the Christmases in my life taken and wrapped into one. I am living my own Advent, and am taking great inspiration from the Blessed Mother. Waiting on her own Little One, she quietly pondered on the great Change within her. I so rarely share with anyone the thoughts that roll through my head through out the day, only taking them to Mary and quietly smiling as we share a moment of the divine secret of motherhood.

I am sure I will feel a tie with my earthly mother as well as my Heavenly Mother following the birth of my child. I cannot wait to wrap it in the tiny blankets and hold it close to me, to watch my husband hold it close and look down at his offspring. Visions of holding my little one at Mass or gently placing it in the bassinet makes me deeply excited.

As this current chapter closes, finishing up days of self-fulfillment and a freedom of responsibility, and the new one begins that contains complete self-abandonment and motherly fulfillment, I pray to remain selfless. I hope I always remember to put my children and husband before me and, through this loving and serving vocation, obtain salvation for my family. I pray, more than anything, to be a good and loving mother, always full of kind words and prayers for my little family. May we always be a model of the Holy Family.

From Dark Moments, Great Blessings

While preparing for marriage, people offered a great deal of advice and commentary, some of it not exactly welcome. Out of the plethora of statements and suggestions, one seemed to be most frequent especially from veteran married couples. "Marriage is hard sometimes. But, with lots of love, even the hard moments are beautiful and make you stronger." Naturally, I envisioned couples bitterly fighting late into the night, wondering if their marriage would last. Not I, would cross my mind. I realize now, that's not necessarily what they meant.

This last week saw a great joy followed very quickly by a great tragedy in my husband's and my life. Tuesday, we received a phone call that Richard's brother Chris and his wife Sarah had had their second child several days early. Sophia was healthy and fine, and could we come down and help watch Eden, their oldest son? Of course. A darling, bubbly child, Eden is a joyful two year old boy that we love to be around. Richard took leave, we packed, and hit the road within a few hours to spend the night. We arrived at the hospital and, as I was holding little Sophia, realization and nervousness hit me that my own little one, squirming in my abdomen, would arrive soon and I'd be holding my own. We all smiled around the new life and the happiness of Eden as he met his new little sister. Truly, God's joy was almost tangible in the room.

Then, the call came. Richard's stepped into the hallway and we heard the distress in his voice. We caught snippets of the conversation and faces became serious, emotions fell. He got off the phone to tell us that his and Chris's mom was in ICU and in very serious condition. Minds processed the information, emotions fell severely and, in a moment, wives were holding husbands as they broke down.

We left for Houston the next morning and spent the next few days with Richard's father and next to his mother's bedside. Not one to enjoy watching people suffer, it pained me more than words could describe to see his mother in that state. Tubes, wires, and machines were everywhere and she looked so flat. Prayers were said, tears shed, and encouraging words offered to a woman in a coma.

In one flash of a moment, I understood what all those couples meant. They weren't necessarily citing fighting and tension. As I looked into the broken face of my husband one night last week, fear overtook me--a fear that seemed to cut into my heart and lungs at the same time--we threw ourselves into each other's arms. We could not be strong alone--we were strong only together. He told me later that week, "I couldn't have done this without you. It's so much easier to be strong with you here." I don't know what I did or said, but apparently my prayers of being his support were answered. I had felt sadly inadequate the entire time.

We are home now, still living by the phone and email for updates and making decisions a family. Prayers still are being said and occasional tears still fall. We are beginning a long road and I can't see as I look out. I still am watching my husband suffer deeply--a personal hell for any wife. But, day by day, Richard and I stand by each other. We hold each other and support each other. One day at a time. That is all that can be expected right now.

One blessing, through all the sadness and Crosses right now, can be acknowledged. This tough, painful time is strengthening our marriage more than I think I can even realize. I see us growing incredibly closer, spiritually, emotionally, and physically. I remember learning that while God does not will us to suffer, He always brings good out of it. Praise God for this Goodness. While this wouldn't have been my chosen method, I am thankful for the strength and humility this is infusing in our marriage. So, those married couples know what they are saying. Life can be so tough. But, when this chapter concludes, the strenght, humility, and beauty added to our marriage will truly be a blessing from God.

I'm leaning against the wall, staring at it. Somehow, I feel as though this will help the reality sink in all that much faster. The walls around it have been painted subtle neutrals and the pictures and decor are ready to be hung. All around it, change seems almost to be tangible.

I remember my mother's, white and small yet so grown up, resplendent with its ruffles and skirt that stretched gracefully to the ground. I had one, too, though mine was much smaller and far less resplendent. I used to gently lay my babydolls inside, much like I'd seen my mother do with my little siblings, practicing for the day I'd have my own bassinet someday. Those days seemed far away, cloudy and surreal.

Of all the items my husband and I have been purchasing for our child, the bassinet seems to make it most surreal. The spare room was cleared out and cleaned; we were doing some Spring Cleaning. The paint went up; we were doing home improvement. The bassinet arrived; time has frozen. That very item will sit at my bedside, holding my most valuable and delicate possession in this life. I will pick my child up from that tiny sleeping area and lay him or her back inside to rest. As beautiful and romantic as my little wicker bassinet seems, there is a reality that has arrived with it that has me realizing how little time I have left.

I am going to be a mother. These words, still, seem laughable. For months, I have felt the flutters then kicks and movements of my child. I have watched my middle grow forward, while it nourished a growing life. I have begun wearing clothes with giant panels and flowing middles. I've laughed and cried over sonograms and heartbeats. And still, the reality of me as a mother seems...large. I have two months left to prepare for the coming of my child. I feel as though I will never get everything I need done and yet am perfectly aware most of it doesn't matter. My child will enter this world with or without bassinet or crib sheets. He or she will come home from the hospital whether or not I have finished crocheting yet another baby project. This preparation is not my main concern.

I am acutely cognizant that I will be holding a child's life and soul in my hands. Anything I say and do can shatter or affirm my child. In carefully or carelessly chosen words, I am the first to impact my child's sense of worth and value. By my loving or empty actions, My child will feel infinitely valued or finitely worthless. As a mother, I will introduce my child to the Man who lent him or her to me. I will be responsible, first and foremost, in cultivating a love in my child for this Man. And should I fail, I will be responsible.

This young, tiny life rolling and squirming inside me has no idea how much its already truly and deeply loved. Tears have come and laughs exploded on empty ears at home, when I feel its body move about inside. I've seen feet project from my side and a head roll around my abdomen. I love my baby. I cannot wait to hold it and love it everyday for the rest of my life.

Until then, I will prepare. Yes, I will buy the sheets and hopefully finish the crochet projects. But, more importantly, I will continue to spiritually prepare myself for the beautiful servitude that is motherhood. Days spent with teething wails and nights up with high fevers will, God help me, be used solely for the salvation of my growing little family. Repeated statements and requests for obedience, God willing, will stem from patience and love. I desire to be a good mother, with a happy family. While I don't know how all this will end, I know how all good things begin: with God. He has and will continue to give me the strength and courage to face this daunting, beautiful task.

True Love in Life

The beauty of the Eucharist holds me awestruck every Sunday. Feeling undeserving and humble, I crawl forward towards the priest to receive my Lord and my God, and feel so free and joyful as I walk to my pew afterward. Once a week, I become one with Our Lord, bonding with Him body and soul. I have come to realize, through an expensive liberal arts education and my own experience that this is the draw of true Love--the desire to become one with another.

As a married woman, I see daily the beauty behind my true Love for my husband, as well. When he has down days, I try to be more cheerful, cooking him a better meal, cleaning the house a little longer, or giving him extra hugs and kisses. I am blessed to say the same about him. With pregnancy, when I don't feel beautiful, he showers me with compliments, wonderful gazes, and extra embraces. When I am cranky, he is so kind and patient until I am myself again. We advise each other through our faults and vices and praise each other through the virtues. Truly, I find our personalities and their facets like puzzle pieces. Praise God for this.

More so, though, I find when we are lying next to each other in the middle of the night or during a movie, this is not close enough. I want to be as close as possible, but know that any given proximity will never be enough. Fulton Sheen phrased this lofty idea perfectly, saying that love is a complete giving of one's self into another. While we petty human beings rely mainly on our senses, some of blessed few know there is reason and the soul that soar far higher than any touch or taste, above any sight or scent. While I can never physically get as close as my senses would desire, I know that our souls have been forever fused as one through the Sacrament of Marriage.

Through this ultimate one-ness of marriage, we are blessed to be expecting life. Here, too, I find the beauty of love--a beauty men will never understand. I am one with my child. In my body there is another life being sheltered, nourished, and grown. As my sister-in-law once aptly put it, "two souls in one body." Truly, this is similar to receiving the Eucharist each Sunday, when I am with Jesus in one body.

I find similarities here, as well. Nothing whets my appetite more quickly for the glories and beauty of Heaven than receiving the Eucharist. I am never more excited about, God willing, achieving my Eternal Salvation than when I am kneeling in prayer after Holy Communion. At times, the beauty of being so close to Christ and yet feeling so far away from He and his glory brings me to tears.

Pregnancy is similar to this seemingly inadequate proximity to my husband and the transitory one-ness of the Eucharist. For the only time in my young child's life, I am truly and physically Loving my child. We are one. This tiny, darling child squirming inside of me is closer to me than my husband ever will be. This blessed child's presence inside of me is lasting far longer than that of the Eucharist each Sunday. Yet, in this situation, I find a yearning to distance my child from me only to see, touch, feel, smell him or her. Oh, what irony! I have a mere fifteen weeks left in this pregnancy. Though, God willing, I pray to be pregnant again with several more children, this one is unique. I will never be one again with this particular child.

I see myself in the months and years following the birth of this blessing, yearning once again to pull my child closer, hold him or her nearer. Visions of lying next to my bundle of life, my arms around it, still happily unsatisfied at how seemingly far my child is--these serve as constant reminders to adore every moment of my pregnancy. For nine short months, I have been blessed to be completely one with my child. I hope to never take advantage of this time, to wish it over so soon. I relish every movement, every moment, acutely aware that they are bringing me that much closer to the joyful separation from my child, if only physically.

I love Love! Praise God for this wonderful gift which He gives so freely and in so many ways. Through each, I have learned the power and service that comes with Love, the draw and the seeming inadequacy that this gift brings. May I always be burdened with that incompleteness, only so that this may serve as encouragement and motivation to keep me seeking the Completeness in His Glory

There's Someone There!

I confess that there are days when I don't shower and dress until the afternoon. I get so busy doing housework and catching up on tasks around my house, I look at the clock only to realize that it's two o'clock in the afternoon. Fortunately, I no longer forget to eat; I have a growing, energetic alarm clock inside of me reminding me I am no longer nourishing only myself.

Today was one of those late days. Three o'clock rolled around before I ran to the shower. I have a reason--the massive monster known as Laundry. I spent the day finishing what has been doing cycles through my washer and dryer the last two days. I finally conquered the task, along with many other items on my to-do list. I felt I had a successful day and sat on the couch for fifteen minutes of relaxation time.

The last two days, my child has been moving almost constantly. Today was no exception. I have felt, finally, movements simultaneously all over my abdomen and am suddenly cognizant of how large this baby is getting. What a wonderful feeling to sense a pushing on my sides. But, what caught me by surprise this afternoon was the lumps and bumps coming out of my abdomen for seconds at a time. Looking down, I could see where hands and feet where pushing my abdomen out. I was, admittedly, brought to tears.

There really is someone there. Rest assured I have not forgotten that aspect. However, I become more acutely aware each day of the child--the human being--my husband and I made that is growing inside of me. I can't see him or her directly, but what energy and life it has already.

I suppose that is the beauty of it: the life my child is already displaying, though some would argue he or she has no life. I would disagree. We say an energetic person is "full of life." My little bundle of energy is no exception. I am awakened at night by the somersaults and jumping jacks. I am moved to giggles almost constantly when my little one begins to dance. Action. Movement. Life.

Praise God for this little life rolling and tumbling about inside of me. Oh, the joy and jubilation that comes from one poke, prod, or kick. The sheer happiness that comes from the squiggles and squirms. Yes, there is life being sheltered in my abdomen. In my body, there is someone there.

Joys of Pregnancy

I had started dinner just before my husband arrived home from work. Squatting down to get a glass casserole out from under a cabinet, I felt it. Mistaking it for a kick or a poke from the inside from my child, I placed my hand gently against my lower abdomen. The pressure neither subsided nor felt like a poke. I realized what this was. I am not sure if the pressure came from a head or foot, but some appendage of my unborn child was pushing against my side.

When I first announced my pregnancy, many people told me how much they despised being pregnant. These people said they could not see the beauty other women saw in the nine months of what they compared to torture. I've heard this attitude constantly, even while growing up. For this reason, I could not understand why my mother said the best times of her life were when she was expecting one of us six children. Pregnancy had been made as this uncomfortable, painful nine months that one endured for the sake of a child.

I now understand my mother. I don't know how people can despise being pregnant. I have never felt so fulfilled as a woman, never experienced such a culmination of what I was designed to do. I am truly living out the vocation I committed myself to. I promised, four short months ago, to lay down my life in every way possible for my husband and our children. My body is no longer my own, my abdomen no longer the sleek figure I worked so hard for prior to my Wedding. But, I am growing a human life.

For years, I have struggled to grow close to Mary, mother of God. Meditations and prayers, readings and Scripture study left me at a barrier. Frustrated, I continued to try. As an expectant mother, I finally understand the identity and beauty behind Mary. I understand and can relate to "pondering it in her heart." Nothing has ever filled me with greater joy than carrying a human life that my husband, my God, and I made. This joy is one that is indescribable. She has on her face the same expression of quiet joy that I have seen on many expectant mothers who understand that same beauty, as though it were a secret. I always wanted that secret. It looked like it tasted of the sweetest fruit imaginable. I know that secret now. I hold one inside of me.

I love my baby. I keep telling my child that. "Oh, if only you could know how much I love you." I feel so undeserving of this true, unadulterated joy. I pity men that they never experience pregnancy. I relate to Mary's firm, but unknowing Fiat. I could never have seen myself as a mother, but I am not turning down this God-given opportunity. Fear is dominated by confidence, Self-doubt conquered by God's grace.

I pray the next twenty-one weeks of my family's Advent pass slowly. I relish every moment of sensation from the Little One, and love feeling each movement gain strength. Too, I pray that this time of preparation is spiritually fruitful. I am preparing to be a mother, with all the kicks, pokes, and hiccups that come with this time. I know already, I will sorely miss being pregnant, but will love when my baby's Christmas comes.

On the Other Side of the Screen

I have no excuse. According to society, I fit the description. I am in the appropriate generation. I frequently check my electronic mail daily and love a good instant messaging chat. I have a cell phone on which I make phone calls and send occasional texts. I recently acquired a portable music player and have taught myself how to download music from my CD's to the device.

I am still, however, somewhat of a misfit. I prefer to send a long, hand-written letter rather than an email. I will place a phone call before I text. I have no idea how to use iTunes nor have I ever been on their site. And I am sure that, while I used Facebook frequently, I have no idea of half the features it offers.

Case in point. Recently, I was communicating back and forth with a person concerning an upcoming event. Not sure if my husband and I were able to attend, I sent an email (for which I would rather have done one mass phone call) and began deliberating on our RSVP status. The person requested via email that I call her, but did not include her number. I was perplexed. I was sure I did not have her number and was unsure how to obtain it. After a few days of fruitless searching and an out of town, Internet-less trip, I had yet to call her. As such, she sent me an email, angered I had not placed the phone call. I wrote her back and explained that I did not have her number, but remembering to include mine.

I was away from my phone when she called, but she left a long voicemail wondering why I had not gone through a mutual friend to get the phone number or had not looked on her profile page on Facebook to get her number. Phone numbers are on Facebook?! I was so surprised. I had no idea a person could publish their address and phone number on Facebook. Furthermore, why would I call a mutual friend, only to request the phone number for another person?

I miss the days of phone calls and letters, when people communicated in one long conversation rather than sporadic emails where miscommunication is both very possible and quite prevalent. As as society, I believe we have become too busy with technology to remember there is a person behind that computer or cell phone. As such, we forget to spend the needed time just talking, catching up on life's ups and downs. I know that my generation, not to mention the generation following, are the biggest perpetrators. However, there are a few of us, though we seem to fit the profile, who are still just as confused and perplexed by the new technology and its unestablished etiquette.

I will continue to learn through unintended trial and error. However, I will obstinately remain an old-fashioned misfit. My lengthy letters and simple phone calls will continue. I will continue on Facebook, but will not let this become my primary form of communication. I know, as technology continues to advance, I will become both more updated, but also more stubborn in my ways. I have no problem learning new things, but I refuse to forget the humanity on the other side of the screen.

Obama, Meet Miss Manners

Georgetown University, a supposedly Catholic institution, recently invited President Obama to speak at the school. He graciously accepted, only to request that all religious symbols be covered. Georgetown, not surprisingly, acquiesced. The IHS symbol, usually depicting the name of Christ, was covered with black plywood and the name of Jesus with a blue shroud. According to White House officials, Obama desired a simple backdrop of blue with the flags; the backdrop, however, was insufficient in hiding the IHS symbol. The White House requested the coverage because "it seemed most respectful to have them covered so as not to be seen out of context," according to the President of Communications at Georgetown University. In that case, all present should have been covered, including the President himself--as we are each a symbol of God.

Out of context? Growing up, my mother frequently would remind me of the proper behavior when I was a guest at other people's houses. If I went for dinner, I ate what was on my plate even if I did not care for what was served. If I spent the night, I graciously accepted sharing a bed with a friend, even if they were a kicker. If they had a religious picture that did not depict or was opposed to my beliefs, I did not say anything--I was their guest.

Obama seems to have forgotten his manners. Georgetown asked the President to attend a function and, kindly, to speak. He accepted, and then proceeded to ask that all characteristics of an environment change. I dare to say, as a Catholic, that if he had attended a Mosque and requested that all religious symbols be covered, outrage would have inevitably followed. However, since the symbols were Christian, no backlash ensued.

The fact remains that Georgetown--supposedly a Catholic institution--accepted this request. As previously quoted, they did not want to seem out of context or disrespectful. Disrespectful to whom? Obama was entering a place that has specific beliefs, though weak. Georgetown is a Catholic institution. How would religious symbols be out of context?

As a Catholic, I would ask that my President return to his Miss Manners book and re-read the section on acting as a proper guest. If I attended his home, I would not ask that he cover his dog's Swarovski crystal bowls. To ask that he remove his liberal agenda from the White House desk because it offends me would never occur to me. Instead, I would be a gracious host, compliment the cooking, and pray an opportunity for debating his many anti-Christian and anti-American policies would arise.

Also, I would request Georgetown finally return to the Religion on which she was founded. I was asked once to remove my ashes on Ash Wednesday at work. I refused. I am Catholic and I am committed to my beliefs. As a Catholic institution, I would expect them to do the same. If someone, regardless of how important they mistake themselves to be, no matter how "out of context" and disrespectful the country's leader supposes a religion is, I would expect Georgetown to remain consistent.

Similarly, I will be interested in seeing if Obama dons the traditional doctoral robe--emblazoned with a Cross and a prayer to the Virgin Mary--when he attends the commencement at Notre Dame University. However, I am praying that Notre Dame leaves the president in the White House on Graduation Day. Why would Notre Dame even consider giving a man an honorary Law degree despite the fact that he is so opposed to the core beliefs of Christians and Catholics? Catholics and Christians, both as individuals and institutions, must remain consistent and strong. We must stick strongly to our beliefs. I will continue to pray that Obama has a conversion and becomes more accepting in his beliefs. Prayers will also be said that Georgetown and Notre Dame return to the Faith on which they were founded. Most of all, I will intercede that Obama remembers his manners.

The Tone of Voice

(This was taped to my computer the year I taught High School--and frequently pops into my head. Thought I'd share it.)

It's not so much what you say
As the manner in which you say it;
It's not so much the language you use
As the tone in which you convey it.
"Come here!" I sharply said,
And the child cowered and wept.
"Come here," I said
He looked at me and smiled
And straight into my lap he crept.
Words may be mild and fair
But the tone may pierce like a dart;
Words maybe soft as the summer air
But the tone may break my heart;
For words come from the mind
Grow by study and art
But tone leaps from the inner self,
Revealing the state of the heart.
Whether you know it or not,
Whether your mean or care,
Gentleness, kindness, love and hate,
Envy, anger are there.
Then, would you quarrels avoid
And peace and love rejoice?
Keep anger not only out of your words
Keep it out of your voice.

A Bride's Words

As I write this, there are a mere 14 days remaining until my wedding. Despite the ever-growing and tangible evidence, I honestly cannot believe any of this is happening. I have wedding invitations consuming an entire drawer in my entertainment center, RSVPs filling my mailbox daily, Wedding Gifts piling up at my doorstep, and a veil cascading down from closet shelf. I have a suitcase packed with beach clothes and an apartment rapidly growing empty. I, Adrienne Smith, am getting married! And yet, it all feels strangely...surreal. Despite the Bridal Showers and dress fittings, the honeymoon shopping and apartment packing, the list-making and day-planning, I can't make myself believe--it's about me this time. Not someone else, not another bride. I am the Bride.

I am the happiest girl on Earth, I think. All the excitement, all the anticipation is about to culminate. It's not about the dress for me, dear reader. It's not the shoes or the veil. It's not about the parties or presents or people. It's not even about the Mass. In a swift 14 days, I have the honor of vowing my whole life and self to my vocation--to humbly and completely serve one man and our children for the rest of my life. That is the the thought that brings tears of complete and total joy to my eyes. I am honored with the job of getting him and our children to Heaven all the days of my life. Daily may I die so that he may live. Through cooking his meals, scrubbing his floors, and scouring bathtubs, I can get a man and his children to Paradise. Hand in Hand with this, I am going to be God's channel for new life into this world. In a lesser way, I will be a Mary.

Sometimes, I worry--am I spiritually prepared for this arduous vocation? Am I ready to daily lay down my life for my family? I realize that temptations of pride and selfishness will sometimes prevent me from fulfilling this huge, God-given task. After much reflection, I have concluded that no one is ever fully ready, or there would be no learning. There would be no growing and, therefore, there would be no coming closer to Christ. As such, I pray to have the humility to just focus on each set of twenty-four hours--how can I spend that day getting my husband and, eventually, our children to Heaven?

Please remember me in your prayers, dear reader. It is only through the graces of our Lord that I shall, after years' battle, win what I set out to attain: the salvation of my family.

I Believe!

Tonight, I cheated. A little. A cold night here in Texas, my fiance and I made coffee and watched the movie The Polar Express. Though an animated children's movie, it never fails to move me. Symbolized by a small bell, the movie portrays the true belief in Santa; only believers in Santa Claus can hear the small sleigh bell.

After watching this movie, I always find myself pondering my childhood Christmases. Since we were a large family, there always seemed to be thousands of presents pouring out from under the tree on Christmas morning. In my childhood, this particular Season was a time of magical wonderment; the highlight of the year. January would find us depressed at the close of Christmas, July found us sneaking Christmas tapes to our room and playing Christmas while my parents weren't looking. But, Thanksgiving and the following days--those were tangible magic. Letters were written and placed on the fireplace, after hours spent pouring over the JCPenney Catalog. A large tree went up in our Living Room, with much fanfare as to who's turn it was to put the tree topper on. Santa Claus the Movie and It's a Wonderful Life were video staples, watched with egg-nog and hot chocolate. Most of all, time and intense thought were given every year as to our gifts for each other.

We believed in Santa Claus. Second to Catholic Dogma, my siblings and I fought for Saint Nicholas' existence. Our friends believed, too, until they got to a certain age. When inevitable doubt would fill us, our parents or big brother would set us straight. While Santa only added to the magic, I knew the Source of Christmas. This perception of Christmas was manifested perfectly in a small statue my has mother placed next to the Nativity every Christmas. A tiny manger, filled with hay, containing the baby Jesus; kneeling humbly next to Him with hat off was Santa Claus. This, materialized, was Christmas. All magic knelt before Him as He was the source of all magic.

As our society loses Faith in God and religion become an extremist and endangered "lifestyle," I wonder something. All magic, for children, is gone. Many children no longer believe in Santa. Commercials and publicity advertise Mom and Dad creating Christmas. Society has begun decorating for Christmas as early as October. Nothing is sacred; nothing is enchanted. Because we have squelched God out of society, we have extinguished all magic. G.K. Chesterton once said, "For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony [like children]. But perhaps God is strong enough exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, 'Do it again!' to the sun; and every evening, 'Do it again!' to the moon!" But, even children no longer exult in monotony; I fear, children no longer exult in anything.

I still believe in Santa Claus. We Smith children still do, though we are no longer children. This belief, though changed somewhat, still burns strongly within my heart. Christ is the foundation of Christmas, but the jolly bearded man is the embodiment of giving. As Christmas approaches, I am reminded of that magic, that enchantment I had as a child. The very fascinating excitement to hand pieces of God's love to others. Santa Claus, he did this. He still does. He is not one man; rather, he is all of us. We are all that magical desire to give joy, peace, and love to others most especially during this holiday season. There are few of us left who have this bewitching desire to give, to love. But, Christ burns all the more strongly in us as the foundation of this magic.

This shall serve as additional incentive for me as the Christmas Season approaches. I shall, give until it hurts because, as Mother Theresa once said, "if we give until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only love." May Santa Claus and his Divine Source serve as encouragement to all Christians this season, as we fight to re-infuse Christmas with Christ. May we all remember that it is only in giving that we receive. And, ultimately, that "the true Spirit of Christmas lies in your heart."

Merry Christmas.

Death Living in the Hallways: Thoughts from Christ's Little Teapot

Last year, God placed me in a private Catholic school, where I was to teach and guide young people. While there, I was able to freely talk of my moral beliefs and preach constantly about God's Holy Word. While I saw some sad stories and had a few difficult children, I am only now learning how easy I had it.

Now, I am substitute teaching in another school district. The last few days have found me at the High School, working both as a PE and an Art teacher. I thought I had mentally prepared myself for what I was going to see; after all, I was a public school kid, myself. I was more than wrong. As I stepped inside this microcosm, shock overtook me. I watched as fifteen and fourteen year old kids slid their hands all over each other. As a military brat, I have never heard such foul language so often. But, the most saddening aspect: these grown up children move through their day like dead people. Many children never show any expression; rather, they eerily resemble zombies. However, even those who exude some expression, share a characteristic with the others. There is no life in their eyes.

I have spent the last three days searching for it. My sisters have it. I have it. My brothers and fiance have it. Everyone with whom I went to college also had it. That life in their eyes. A spark there that next manifests itself in this all over glow. Innocence. As I scanned the faces of the miniature adults moving through the hallways and entering my room, I never saw it. All that greeted my search was repetitive darkness and death in their eyes; an absence of life.

Still, I exude Christ. Smiling to every face that actually turns to mine, saying hello, using affirmation and endearments. Most are in vain. However, I have had a few rare moments where, almost like a burst of sunshine, Christ's love, through his little tool, is poured into the soul of a youth and blooms instantaneously. Eyes lock, a moment of questioning trust, and then, for a moment, I see the spark. What joy unfolds in this child! And, sadly, how alien they find it. Some shut it down, others come beckoning for more. This is my success.

Even though I am only in the lives of these children for a fleeting moment, I may never know what impact I might have on them. I consider myself Christ's pitcher, into which He pours His love, only to pour it into others. I yearn to be Christ's pitcher, to be the one full container that shares His love with many empty containers.

I will continue to act as His little teapot, the channel for His divine Love. I pray that these young children will realize that they are just that: His children. And that is okay. I pray that these children find Real Love and understand what it is they are looking for. And, lastly, I pray to always remember to put these young sheep first, before me, that they may receive Christ through me and somewhere always have it. God bless the little children.

She's Back, and Ready for More

When packing my classroom back in May, yearning for a summer reprieve but already missing my kids, I never imagined the path my life would take. Most of the summer flew quickly by and I was superfluously distracted with my own life. While I was lesson planning for the next year and traveling to various weddings and locales, the economy was falling apart. Then, my "superfluous" view suddenly was shattered; Miss Smith was out of work.

I have worked odd jobs and pinched pennies for the last three months. After working in an office with no people contact, I realized that no job would satisfy me like that of a teacher. The economy hit me again and I knew immediately where I was going.

As of Monday morning, I will be back in the classroom. While I will only be substitute teaching, I am overjoyed to returning the classroom. I will be able to help those youth who need guidance so terribly. Miss Smith has put her teacher pants back on.

It won't be the same, however, as Holy Trinity. We were warned in no uncertain terms in Orientation to leave God out of our conversations and lessons. At the risk of losing my job again, I will not mention Him, my Divine Father. However, they cannot ask me to leave Him out of my actions and intentions.

I ask for prayers as I begin again. I look forward to Monday, despite some nerves. Miss Smith is coming back for more.

All my life, I dreamed it in my head. Once, the whole thing unfolded on a beach, the waves lapping at the shore. Another time, the event occurred in a five-star restaurant, while everyone looked on. Slowly as I grew, the location became secluded, quiet, just the two of us. In college, my imagination pictured the moment on a small bridge located off a rough path on my campus. Of course, when the man I fell in love with finally asked me to be his wife, the location could not have been more perfect: in a chapel, in front of God.

As he sank down to his knee and asked me to be his bride, a thousand thoughts crashed in my head at once: "Is this really happening?" combined with, "I've waited my whole life for this." and, finally, "Am I ready for this?" I said yes. My dreams were coming true.

Now that two months have passed, reality has begun to quickly set in. I have a giant list of things to do. Find a dress, decide on flowers, pick the music, the list goes on. I have a great many desires, as well. I want some new clothes for my Honeymoon, I'd like to replace some shoes that are worn. I really want a nice trousseau, complete with items any housewife would love. I yearn to tweak his home, to pick out bedsheets and shams, curtains, and other items a bachelor's home lacks.

Suddenly, though, I have been overcome by a much different desire. Immaterial and almost inexplicable, this is by far the strongest one I've had since he gently placed a ring on my finger. Recently, I have been stunned into silence by this man. As my life takes directions I hadn't planned, Richard has stood strong. Always affirming and praying, he's held me as my world spins out of control numerous times. Humble and gentle, he's full of advice when I want help and exudes patience as I irrationally spout my fears and worries. This man is my hero.

I have a strong and ardent desire to be the best I can for him. More than the spoons and rugs I want for his kitchen, more than the daisies and cake I hope are at my wedding, I want to humble myself before him everyday for the rest of my life. Never have I met a man for whom I've wanted to scrub his floors and massage his feet. I wish to be the serving wife, the quiet mother, the constant best friend.

In college, I vowed no man would stand in the way of my hopes and dreams. As I watched girls seemingly put their dreams on the shelf and follow a man, I told my friends that this would not happen to me. I would get my Master's and I would teach college and live in my own place. When I was ready, I would find a man and settle down. He could wait. Then, appropriately, reality hit me in the face like a train.

Now, I am preparing to spend the rest of my life with this insanely loving and gentle man. Honest, caring, selfless, he puts much of my spiritual life to shame. As it should be. I want to be to him what Mary was to humanity: a selfless, quiet, serving woman who daily martyrs herself for her family's salvation. I want fervently to use every moment, every word, every action to further Richard on his path to salvation. I must be ready for this immense vocation. I am reading voraciously marriage-prep books, praying for virtue, and cultivating my spiritual life. I want to be his Mary.

I adore this man. I wish that I could be what he is. I am humbled to watch him, honored to know him, and stunned by the vital vocation of aiding him to Heaven. I must be ready. This is my call. I am preparing for our life together. With all the tasks to complete before our wedding, all the household items we could register for, with all the new clothes and accessories I dream of, none of these hold a candle to my burning desire to be the best servant for him possible. Everyday, I pray I can stand up to the challenge, that I can daily die to self for love of him.

Lord, make of me a servant; help me to forget myself for sake of him. Aid me in being the best woman I can be. Guide me in becoming an image of Mary, ever selfless and humble in her service for her family. Please help me in fulfilling my vocation that, when you call us both to your home, we both may enter and praise you forever. Amen.

"Greater love than this no man hath,
that a man lay down his life for his friends." Jn 15:13

I remember once sitting in Mass at Christendom, my alma mater. Father Hiesler was giving the sermon. As a highly involved campus chaplain, Father always knew the current happenings on campus and tailored his sermons appropriately. I remember during this time that many girls were going through tough times with boys and vice versa; Spring Fever had hit. As such, he was preaching about dating and marriage. Speaking of women, he said that females should be ready to imitate Mary, loving and serving in a way that was completely emptying. For men, he advised they wait, until they were ready to spiritually die for thier loved ones. Men, he said, were ready to seriously date and marry when they had an ardent desire to place thier lives daily at the mercy of their family. Like Christ, men should be willing and ready to die spiritually and physicall for their family.

I remember many more things about Christendom. The campus, the snow, the camaraderie. I remember the president, the chaplains, the students. Faces, names of faculty and staff pictured clearly in my mind. I remember one man, quiet, steady, constant. He was always there, on campus, talking to the guys and chatting with the girls. He was at all the sporting events, smiling, encouraging, teaching. This man did not lecture in a classroom; he did not have an office in Coeli. Rather, at the back of the campus, in a small room in the gym, he inspired the young men and women to do their best on and off the soccer field and gym court. He developed an intimate relationship with each of his athletes, causing them to grow and become deeply committed and resolute in all areas of their lives. He gave his all in that office, each day. He spent each day spiritually dying for his athletes.

I remember something else about this man. As tough as he was, he had such a soft heart. Always at his side was his youngest son, disabled by Down's Syndrome. This man went everywhere with his son, letting him ramble around campus and make new friends. He always knew what his son was doing and where he was going. Oftentimes, when I was leaving workstudy, I would see these two, walking and talking as if there were nothing else in the world. Totally absorbed in his son, he would see me at the last second but always greet me with such kindness. I looked forward to seeing them on the way back to my dorm; he and his son always left me feeling better than before. I noticed his face was lit up each time his son was rattling about his thoughts. He loved his son dearly.

I was deeply saddened to hear the loss of this man on the Feast of Mary's Nativity. Diving into a septic tank without a second thought, he held his son up for twenty minutes, so as to save his life and in the process he lost his own. Leaving behind a large and greiving family, he also leaves behind other things, as well. Athletes both from Seton High School and Christendom College, whom he watched develop during the most critical time of their lives. He leaves behind his son, Josie, who was the apple of his eye. A college and high school mourn the loss of man who martyred himself daily.

But, more than that, Mr. VanderWoude left behind a legacy, woven with inspiration and humility. News stations have covered his life; newspapers writing lengthy articles on his kindness and love. This man lived his life for others and, in the fulfillment of who he was, he laid down his life for his family. He truly was the pinacle of fatherhood: giving his life spiritually to ot his children daily and, finally, dying to save his son's life. While many people grieve his sudden departure, Heaven rings out welcome for this Saint. A martyr, mirroring Christ, has come home to be with his own Heavenly Father.

Praise God for Thomas VanderWoude; glory to God for his complete selflessness. While we naturally mourn his loss, let all who knew him thank Christ. Thank Him for this gift of personified kindness, love, and strength. Thank Him for a living example of Christ's love. For all the sadness I feel at Mr. VanderWoude's death, I am astonished at what an amazing, Christ-like man I was gifted in knowing. Thanks be to God!

Eternal rest grant upon him, O Lord, and may the souls of the faithfully departed rest in peace.

Our Selfless Soldiers

My childhood memories are quite different from many people I know. Talking of their childhood, many of my friends speak of one house, one town, one life. Picket fences, gardens, and old trees exist in their memories. Names of long-time acquaintances roll easily off their tongues while thousands of memories dance simultaneously through their mind. My childhood was different. To date, I've lived in seventeen homes, resided in thirteen towns, and have lived many lives.

The colors brown and olive drab have always made me stand a little straighter; I still find myself listening at five o'clock for that bugle to warble through the air. When I enter grocery stores, I still reach down for my wallet. I feel right at home surrounded by large gates and barbed wire. An American flag waving in the wind still causes me to stop a moment and stare. Airport security and travel are second nature to me. Out of all my friends, I can pack a suitcase fastest: for a thirty day break from college, I was always ready to leave within half an hour. The majority of my language consists of acronyms and I still get the itch to leave every two years.

Despite the incessant moving and changing of scenery, there is one constancy burned in my memory. The PX's and Commissaries were only secondary to this monumental source of pride. As a child, I was almost constantly surrounded hundreds of men in military uniforms, supposedly creating a homogeneous effect. However, there was one man who, regardless of the weight he carried or the workload on his shoulders, walked a little straighter and a little more dedicated than those around him. He always valued every soldier as a person and extended respect to each one. This man always left an office full of women crying in the wake of his PCS's and unknowingly left an unsurpassable legacy behind him. Watching him operate always left me silently stunned. He spent 22 years as an Army Officer, a shining example to every soldier he worked with. And I had the honor of calling this amazing soldier, my father.

I am now grown up, but still find myself silently stunned by this man. As such, I have a profound and abiding respect and pride for the military. I now stand a little straighter at anything American. I try to thank every soldier I meet for his or her service in honor of our country. And God has now given me the honor of having another amazing soldier in my life.

Maybe this is why my blood runs cold when people, especially Catholics, criticize the military. In their minds, soldiers are "over-eager to go to war." Our service men and women are, supposedly, trained for war only. They are not at all capable of attaining and instituting peace. I was appalled recently when one young Catholic suggested we had made a mistake entering war, because maybe Iraqis were better off before Hussein was de-throned.

I understand and bear no hard feelings when people debate and disagree on the current war. I myself am not completely thrilled our soldiers are over fighting in such horrific conditions and risking their lives everyday. But, my patience ends when debate occurs over our soldiers.

After finishing twenty-three years as an Army Officer, my father retired and began working full time for the Veteran's Healthcare System, so he could "serve those he served with." Oftentimes, my family will go and join my father for lunch in the Canteen. Anyone questioning the price the service men and women pay should do the same. Men slowly moving along in wheelchairs without legs, women writhing in pain waiting patiently to see the doctor. Blindness, deafness, death.

These brave men and women leave so much behind to answer the call. Saying good-bye to their towns, homes, and families, they deploy from six months (Marines and Navy) to fifteen months (Army). And some, they never come home. I have to face this, as my fiancee is a Captain in the Army. I have to understand that I may lose the man God gave me before it's time. But, that is what God calls him to do.

Are my fiancee and father war-hungry? Not a chance. Rather, they heard the call to defend their country and it's freedom and risked all to do so. Are they killing machines, only trained to shoot people? No way. The two most inspirational, calm souls I have met are my father and my fiancee. Do they thrill at the chance to deploy? Absolutely not. That is where their selflessness lies. They don't do it because they want to, but because they are needed.

Thousands of men and women have perished in our Fight against Terrorism. Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers. Some left behind babies and children. So, when my husband inevitably deploys, will I stand by happily and watch him go? No. I will feel as though my heart and soul are being ripped out of my body. But, I, too, will make my sacrifice as an Army wife. I will watch my soldier go. I will keep my home and family safe. And, God-willing, I will see my soldier come home. That is when my Captain will be eager. This is when I will be excited.

Whether or not you agree with the War, I ask you all to stand behind our troops. As Catholics, we are creatures of charity and love. Support these men and women who are fulfilling their God-given vocations. When you pass a blind or lame veteran while walking into Wal-Mart, do not look away. Stop, thank them for their service. They did not have to fight. They did not want to leave. But, they answered the call and kept our nation free. May God bless them for that.

"What the Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away;
Blessed be the name of the Lord!"

One can fully understand this passage only when he or she has been unemployed in the current job market.

One month ago, I was standing the Christendom College Chapel while the man of my dreams was on his knee beckoning me to spend the rest of my life with him. As I muttered a tearful yes, I painted romantically the next year in my head. Only the week before I had moved into my own place: a sweet, wonderful apartment I was making my own. School would start and I would return my students, once again throwing myself into my passion: teaching. I saw myself balancing work and wedding planning. Side by side with my mother, putting together a wedding while I spent other time with Richard and madly grading papers. I could see myself in the classroom, working my children, aiding and encouraging them to achieve their dreams, awakening their passion for learning. Life was set: just the way I had pictured it. And then God called.

One week, exactly, after I had accepted Richard's proposal and, coincidentally, two weeks exactly after I had moved into my own place, I was called into the school to meet with the principal. I cannot lie: I expected it. Still though, I felt as though my life had fallen apart. Nothing had left me so exhausted at the end of the day as teaching. I would head home, just to sit for an hour while I regained my sanity and energy. But, it was this pouring myself completely out for my students that had never before left me so fulfilled. I put my whole self into molding my children, standing in the classroom ,while Christ worked on my children through me. It was a truly rewarding experience and I felt as though I'd found my niche.

It's been a roller coaster ride ever since. I've spent my days looking for work and my nights worrying myself sick. Questions ride through my head while voices of failure stab at my soul. Moments of false optimism gave way to long periods of despair and discouragement. I felt as though the Devil had his nails dug into my throat, while he attempted to turn me from Christ. I felt a burden to many around me, refusing to ask for help. This went heavenward, as I shrunk away from God, too ashamed to pray. Thoughts of my students wafted in my head, as I heaved myself through the day. Nights would bring terrifying dreams of unemployment and trips to the school to beg for my job back tiptoed wickedly through my sleep. Nothing has left me so terrified as being laid off suddenly from work.

I had to go and clean out my classroom. I dreaded it. But, as soon as I drove out of the parking lot, I felt an inexplicable sense of peace. I no longer felt the emotions crashing, the negativity dancing wrathfully in my head. Oddly enough, it felt...right. How bizarre. Still the feelings have not returned. A constant sense of contentment has replaced the feelings of despair and terror. I have begun praying again. Sleep still is difficult, but the nightmares have decreased.

As I was making dinner this evening, a bible passage popped into my head. I remember a friend turned nun would remind me of this when life got tough: "What the Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away; Blessed be the name of the Lord." Honestly, I never could relate to this verse...until recently. Having gone through a Job Divorce, I now fully comprehend. The Lord blesses us with vocations, filling us with joy as we empty ourselves for others. At any moment, however, these jobs can be snatched away, leaving us with questions and discouragement. We should not wallow in sadness and despair, but rejoice at the opportunity we had. Inevitably, though, the fear and the sorrow will follow. But God ALWAYS has something better planned. We just have to wait. Sometimes, it's tremendously hard and scary.

Too, this passage runs hand in hand with Roman's 8:28: "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." Even when God does not will life's setbacks, He will still provide for us in His time. We are called to serve His purpose and He will provide ample opportunity for this. Even in sadness, there is salvation. Later, the passage relates, "If Christ is for us, who can be against us?" As we face life's demons and destruction, even these forces cannot stand up to the power and grace of God. For He is the all-powerful ruler, who is also all-loving. Really, who could ask for more?

Tonight as I climb into bed, I will climb into the lap of Jesus, my all-powerful and all-loving Father, and lean my head against His chest. I know He will wrap his arms around me and hold me, showering comfort and grace with unspoken words. I will find peace and contentment in hearing His heartbeat and slow, constant breathing. In the morning, I will climb down from His lap and search for His holy will for me. I am called according to His purpose, the Father of Heaven, and He works for me because He loves me. He is for me, so no one can be against me. Praise be God!!!

A Wonderful and Wasted Opportunity: Oprah Denies Christ

In this video clip, Oprah is interviewing several people on their views of good and evil and the supernatural. The woman in the beginning is a Christian, who argues with Oprah mid-video about the "ways to Christ." Oprah states that "there are various ways to what [Christians] call God," and questions the salvation of those who live in remote areas and consequently never know God. While she asks two different questions, the answers are easy and never answered in this video.

Oprah's statement, concerning the multiple ways to God, is a common and gravely erroneous belief today. Oprah elaborates, saying that her ways to God may be different than that of the Christian woman's ways. There is no such idea as wrong/right, or black and white. Rather, there are infinite paths we humans may take in order to achieve what I call my God. This is tantamount to Nike's advertising slogan, "Just do it." If a young man feels that it is morally permissible for him to steal money from his mother's wallet for his date that night, so be it. If a young woman feels that it is morally right for her to have intercourse with her boyfriend to make him love her, fine. However, we Christians are blessed to know that, along with a soul, every human being has a conscience. Whether or not we are willing to admit it, every morally wrong choice we make was deliberated upon in our conscience. We sense the sways and preferences of our consciences and must live with the inevitable pang of guilt when a moral wrong is chosen. Oprah fails to realize the gravity and universality of Natural Law; rather, she lives by a moral relativism in vain attempts to salve her hurting conscience.

The second half of the video, she asks about the salvation of those who never know God, which is a completely valid question. As a High School teacher, I frequently am asked this by my students. I confess, there was a time I was curious about the same situation. However, we must remember that God is not an angry judgmental God; instead, he is full of mercy and love. He is frequently stereotyped as a all-powerful rule maker who revels in sending people to Hell. Not true. God is willing to do anything to bring us to Heave with him; the rub lies here: are we meeting him halfway. We must live a good life and make morally correct choices. As stated above, every human person has a conscience which comes with a general, inherent knowledge of right and wrong. Provided that the person, while not knowing God particularly, makes morally good choices based on his conscience, the our Lord will bring him to Heaven. However, if the converse occurs, they will be unfit for Heaven and spending eternity with God.

As Christians, it is imperative that we educate ourselves on these and other answers. I find it incredibly sad that Oprah's questions were never answered, since to this day she holds the same beliefs. Instead of properly and adequately answering Oprah's questions, the Christian women simply became emotional and rattled out answers that did not make sense. I continue to read about my Faith and to know the answers that people like this ask. I pray that other Christians and Catholics do the same. We must fight the good Fight and conquer with Christ.

When Will the Madness End

"I can do all things in Christ, Who strengthens me."

These words could very well sum up the last eleven months for me. I sat in my room yesterday, talking to my sister still at Christendom. She was excitedly getting ready for Spring Formal. I was only able to speak with her a few minutes, as she had a million girlish tasks left to do. I think back, once in a while, and remember my time at that school. It was only a year ago that I was there, myself, and was juggling classes, academic activities, social obligations, and my impending graduation. I thought I was so busy. And I was awfully scared. Had I known what was going to happen, I might have chosen to double major, tacking another year onto my education.

However, God is a clever man; there is a reason we do not know our future. From a car wreck to suffering the loss of a sister-in-law, I would be lying to say the last year's been easy. God is not done. I recently suffered such a Cross that left me feeling stunned and devastated. For several days I was struggling with discouragement and almost giving up. I am still scared.

God has given me quite a blessing though. For the last year, my swirling, crazy life has sped by at the rate of 95 mph on a slow day. I look back and I see a whirlwind of activities and events that have drastically changed me into the woman I am a year after my college commencement. On top of the Crosses, I've been a high school teacher--a job I adore. I have spent most of my energy putting everything into teaching my kids. But, the first of year of teaching is a hardship in itself. While it was a blessing, my profession only added to my fast-paced life.

Through it all, though, there has been this one constant blessing. As the rest of my life turned about me, I can see this person steady and strong for me. On a number of occasions, he's dropped everything and come to me. He's held me and loved me and changed me. He's inspired me and he's impacted me. And I love him.

With all the difficulties the year after graduation brings, God was immensely good to give me this man. Together, we have prayed and grown and discerned. I don't know where I'd be if I hadn't had him this year. As such, I can't say that I wish this year hadn't happened, primarily because I wouldn't have him. Also, the difficulties and Crosses have brought us closer.

The verse above, from Sacred Scripture, floated through my head all year. When I forgot it, my father would remind me. It's so apt. My advice to the Graduating Class of 2008: treasure your life left on Christendom Campus. Never will you have the constant opportunity to turn to the Chapel. Your days on the hall with your friends are severely numbered. The next year will be hard and there will be times you will be scared to wake up the next morning. But, God is there. God is holding you. And to make up for the Crosses, He will send grand blessings. And, above all, remember: You "can do all things through Christ, who strengthens" you.

Non-Opposing Blessings: The Virtues in Purity and Sex

When I was in High School, I regarded "Sex" as a bad word and it was not to be repeated. To be completely honest, all I knew was that this was something mothers and fathers did to make babies. I knew not the process, nor what was involved. Very quickly, I became convinced that Sex, itself, was horrible thing. My reaction was in response to the rampant immorality of today's society. Most of my peers frequently engaged in Sex after school and on the weekends; I would have to sit between the girls as they discussed the whats and whens of their latest sexual moments. As a result, any type of physical affection, beyond a simple kiss, became to me a grave sin.

I now know better. It took me four years at a Catholic college and practically being forced to read Church documents on the subject following my college graduation to convince me otherwise. I realize how erroneous I was in my judgments. In the proper time and place, Sex and physical affirmation are beautiful ways to show love for another person. Sex is a self-gift from one spouse to another and is a fine, even beautiful requirement, in marriage. Having read Theology of the Body, my opinion vastly differs from my High School days. But, a child like me in High School is also one in a million.

Fast forward eight years. For someone who hated High School so terribly much, I am now teaching Freshman and Sophomore Theology and loving it. However, the irony continues. As a Theology teacher, I am in charge of the Freshman Purity and Sex Talk. In two weeks, I must teach Freshmen girls and boys the value and beauty of both Purity and Sex. That's right, not just the virtue behind Purity or the self-gift of Sex. I am in charge of making sure over thirty hormonal teens comprehend the difference between and the goodness of Purity and Sex in five days.

I have been reading multiple sources on the subject, from the Catechism to Jason Evert's If You Really Love Me. I have appreciated the value and explanations the Church has put behind every statement and piece of Dogma. Every what and why make perfect sense. The explanation by Pope John Paul II of the gift of Sex has brought tears to my eyes and guilt to my heart for previous opinions. I have a stronger devotion and commitment to Purity than I did two weeks ago. True Love is a wonderful truth, but so rarely understood. The dogma and beliefs of the Faith behind Purity and Sex are infused with the different but equal dignity of man and woman. The intense philosophy and theology behind these sources are a treat to read. But, I also have four years of High School and four years of a Liberal Arts education behind me, aiding my comprehension.

While I am almost finished in expanding my knowledge of the subject, I still have the daunting task of simplifying all this information, without diluting the truths, and conveying it all to my students. I have to pick out awkward, personal topics to cover with my girls and talk to them about various aspects of their sexuality. With my boys, I must develop a lesson plan for the three days when the classes are split up. I must choose, with the utmost caution, topics that boys face at that age dealing with their sexuality. Where do I begin?

When the week ends, I want the children to ultimately respect themselves as Children of God; to understand that each boy and each girl has an invaluable intrinsic dignity simply because they are God's children. I want them to relate this understanding in respect for themselves and for each other. I pray that they refrain from the mistakes so many teens and young adults make. I beseech God to aid the children in keeping the gift of Purity, so deeply connected to Sex, until they find and marry their Spouse. I hope for this not because the Church forbids premarital sex and encourages purity, but because I know this is what they deserve. Each girl in that room wants love; I pray she finds the true meaning. Every boy desires to prove himself a man; I hope he does so at the right time in a Christ-like way. Ultimately, I hope, only through God's infinite mercy and love, that the children realize that they need only gaze upward for True Love. For, only the truest form of Love is found in our Lord.

I recently received an e-mail from a friend asking about teaching High School. She was asking for advice. I started by giving practical advice and then told her of the journey I've walked the first half of my year. I felt compelled to share it with those who still are faithful readers.

So, a teacher, huh? My best advice I can give is to start looking now. You are really going to want to start getting your name out now. What area are you looking in? If it's a high-populated area, then the competition is going to be tougher. Take your resume and have Tom in Career Development beef it up. Schedule several meetings with him because you want your resume to look amazing. Make sure it has a bent towards education and childcare. Start sending it out and make sure you keep track of where you sent it. I made a spreadsheet of where and when I sent it off, further communication, etc. After two weeks, call the schools back and ask if they've received your resume.

I am going to be honest with you about teaching high school. It's totally different than anything I've ever done before. I am up at the crack of dawn, at school before the sun is up, and all I hear all day is screams and much talking. As a first year teacher, I am at the bottom of the totem pole. All I hear is criticism; and I have to smile and agree. It's a constant struggle to keep up with grading and a perpetual fight to maintain control of the classroom. For the first three months, I vowed I would not be coming back next year. I hated my job, hated the hours, hated the constant fear and feel of being the lowest of the low. Then, something happened. I looked into the eyes of my students one day as I was teaching. They were enthralled...by Theology! They were hanging on every word. It's not like that everyday, but everyday that's what I work for. I love that this is a completely selfless job. You don't get paid squat, there's hardly any benefits, you're constantly criticized, and you literally never stop going. But, that's not why I'm doing it. I do it because the looks in my kids' eyes when I affirm them or answer a very important Theological question. I do it because I am finding fulfillment in being the lowest. In taking the kids hearts and souls in my hands I may be, through the grace of God, making sure they continue that long, arduous walk towards Heaven. I learned early on that there's a difference between a good teacher and a great teacher; the good teacher teaches, and a great teacher learns while she teaches. I have learned a great deal. I have a post-it note on my computer in my classroom that says, "Remember that you are not here for you, you are here for your children." Honestly, Cass, it's the next best thing to being a Mom. The only difference: I don't take my kids home at night.

Surrender...how?

"Stop worrying so much!"

These words are quite familiar to me. I hear them constantly from those closest to me. My twin brother frequently reminds me to just quite agonizing over various things in my life. My boyfriend is famous for employing the above words. But, I admit: I still worry. I agonize and question every decision I make, and criticize and second guess every choice I commit. Why? Quite frankly, because I am mortally afraid of screwing up. That's it, in a nutshell. How can I make every thing go perfectly, every moment run smoothly? Because if it doesn't, it's my fault.

I sit now, in front of the computer, with waves of emotion and questions running through my head. Every muscle in my neck, back, and head are rock. I have had waves of pain running through my head for a week now. I am stressed beyond belief. Why? Because of worrying.

I recently bought a new cell phone plan. What if I bought the wrong one and I am stuck with it for two years? What if I don't get everything done at work before midterms next week? What if I offended the person I spoke to just now on the telephone? What if I don't have the solution to the biggest problem in my life right now (which, by the way, is the only legitimate worry I have; but, it's legitimate)?


The answer is clear. I should know, as a Theology teacher, that the answers to the above question are the same words I preach to my kids everyday: take all things to Christ in prayer. We must trust His divine will over ours. As long as we do all things to glorify Him and His holy works, what wrong can we do? Stuff happens. If I don't get everything done at school, so what? The end will not come any faster. If I don't have all the answers in life, will the Fates come and sieze me? I think not. My mind knows this, I just wish I could make my heart believe it.

Why do place such responsibility on myself? Why do I blame myself for so much and hold myself to impossible standards? I have a vague idea.

I watch the Phlegmatic people flow through life without a care and, being a closet melancholic, I envy them greatly. My boyfriend doesn't let almost anything bother him. "So what? It'll take care of itself." How does one cultivate this attitude? Especially a person with such a propensity to worry? How can I stop the vicious cycle? How does one learn to just slow down and take it easy?

I wish I had all the answers. I wish I knew what tomorrow and next week, next month, even next year, held. But, I know if I did, I'd probably worry about all the inevitable Crosses. I would agonize over the bumps in the way.

I must start taking all things to Christ in prayer. I must learn to start chilling out, relaxing. I must learn from those dearest around me. Loosen up, and have a proverbial beer while taking it all to Christ. I must learn to start trusting Him again. I have been terrible about that. He is my Father, in Him all things will inevitably take care of themselves.

Dearest Father in Heaven, you know all the intentions I hold in the deepest recesses of my heart. Some, I have told no one about. Please, take my yoke and guide me. Teach me to relax in your Holy will for me. In Jesus' name we pray.

One Year Ago

I am a closet melancholic. Anyone who knows me even the littlest bit knows how often I slip into brooding and obsessive analyzing. I was conversing on the telephone with one of my friends the other night, catching up on life's little events and gabbing like a typical woman. She mentioned how stressed she was because of her thesis and how I probably knew how she felt. A few days later, I was privileged to see the movie Bella again in theaters, and was struck again by the line, "If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans." These two tiny moments caused me to reflect on where I was a year ago.

I remember I lived in front of this computer. Every day, every night found me typing away in front of this little machine. I had to get an A. By this time, I think I was about eighty pages into my rough draft of my Senior Thesis and was scaling back a few thoughts that were superfluous. The final draft was due in a matter of days. It was a Friday night that found me alone in my room, listening to my romantic music, musing on what it if. I had just experienced a broken heart. I was lost in reverie about what the future held. In one year, I envisioned myself attending graduate school at a prestigious school and, since clearly I would be completely single, I would be assisting at a Church as a Youth Ministry Director for High Schoolers. I would be heroically struggling to make ends meet while traveling during my breaks from school. I would be living in Virginia, near my friends.

As my college graduation approached, I was looking at graduate schools in Virginia. Honestly, the schools were chosen only because my friends were near, but I would never have admitted that. I was looking at Youth Ministry positions, trying to register for the GRE, and was thrilled about the new life. And then, God laughed.

I laugh, too, thinking about how drastically my life has changed in the last year. Good times and bad times have come and gone. Crosses given and Crosses resolved. But, I am in no way where I had so romantically pictured myself. I am teaching Theology and English Catholic High School for ninth and tenth grade. After two and a half months of struggling to find my niche there, I have done it. I assist with the Youth Ministry program when I have time to breathe. Only now am I getting ready to take the GRE. Grad school may or may not be on the agenda for next year. I hardly have time to sleep or relax. Nights find me racing to grade all papers I need to get back to my kids. Days find me energetically teaching God's sacred word to seventy innocent and trusting souls and running around trying to get everything done. But, more than anything, God has blessed me with an amazing man. Loving and supporting, he has been such a blessing during the most stressful point of my life. His gentle strength and deep-flowing faith are such an inspiration to me as I try to figure out life.

Despite the web of insanity in my life, I am so happy. Yes, God laughed. Yes, as it reverberated across the universe, my delicate plans fell from the shelf and broke. But, He had better plans for me. Such plans! As I teach, I learn. As I pray, I am in prayer. As I love, I am loved. Could I ask for anything more? And I have no idea what the future holds; I have become more flexible, though. God's will, although known through our desires in our hearts and the petitions in our prayers, are always somewhat surprising. However, no matter how disappointing or frustrating the difference between our plans and His, I know that I shall learn a great deal. As another year flies by amidst tests, projects, fundraisers and love, I shall continue to take each day as an opportunity for sanctity and blessing.

Death's Nimble Steps

Moments are so fluid, so multi-faceted. While one event unfolds in one person's life, somewhere some milestone for another is ending. On October 15 in the evening hours, my friend swerved into a guard rail while driving. At the same Moment, I was receiving the humble word of Love for the first time. And, during that flick of time, my sister-in-law died.

Death sneaks in with nimble steps and thieves life. Warnings come and cautions are made, but still we silly human beings do not heed. We deny what lies in front of our faces; we naively think it cannot happen to us. But, the inevitable comes and we are left with that wretched hollow feeling and a million unerasable regrets. The waves of emotion come, crashing in our minds like giant cliffs of waters against the rocky shore. First, we are left in disbelief, then the realization hits and the pain won't stop. Someone we care about is gone, from this world at least.

I have convinced myself that crying is weakness; crying in front of others is selfish and ridiculous. Today, I cried. A lot. It hurts. Deeply. One of my students approached me to ask about my sister-in-law today and I had to step out of the classroom. I was in and out of the ladies room all day. When people asked how I was, my auto-response was "good." A lie.

For ten months, dearest Kristin suffered. A mere twenty-six years of age, the girl was just beginning life. The world was opening to her and her dreams. But, she was not like any girl; scars covered her arms, legs, and stomach. She had gone through three transplants, took multiple medicines, and lived from lab result to lab result. She had bruises on her arms and plexiglass arteries in her legs. Kristin would never be able to have children. And thus, her motto in life was Carpe Diem! Sieze the day! So, she did.

During her last years on earth, she went on a Cruise, had pets, got married. In fact, I was the first to meet her; she was in my Political Science class. We used to giggle over first impressions and silly fights. One night, my brother came over with coffee for me. Fate happened and the rest is history. And he stood strong through her suffering. Now, she's in a happier place, a place where Angels sing and Saints rejoice. She doesn't have bruises, her scars are gone. The pain and torture of constant surgery and dialysis is over for dear Kristin. She can finally rest without fearing the No Tomorrow. And her family is left to grieve.

We Catholics believe that Death should be celebrated. Prayers are always answered. I cling to this Maxim of the Magesterium. I prayed daily for her conversion and for a matching donor. Neither happened and I am left holding desperately to the hopes given by Mother Church. "No prayer ever goes unanswered." "We live our life for one moment: to die." And so, seizing the day, Kristin passed from a transitory life of suffering to, God willing, an eternal life of bliss. May God rest her soul.

Eternal rest grant upon them, O Lord, and may the souls of the faithfully departed through the mercy of God, rest in Peace. Amen.

In a Moment's Time

Last week was, arguably, the worst week I've ever experienced. As a school teacher, I have that unconditional love for my students, even when I am conscious of the desire to wring their necks. My case is worse, as I have teenagers; the hooligans with the rushing hormones. Last week, the moon must have been full because my children were out of control. The children's behavior climaxed at the end of the week and I sent a round of students home with punishments. Discouraged, stressed, and tired, I headed home.

And then it happened. I was pulling out from a stop sign (after having looked both ways) and was slammed by an on-coming car. I spun down the road and (after driving south) stopped heading East and he flew into a yard. My car is a mess and his was completely totalled. I have never experienced anything like that. It wasn't until the next day that I realized how hard I was hit. I could hardly move and I was still so shaken up. During some time with Jesus, I realized something.

I remember seeing him come out of nowhere. I remember thinking, "My God, he's going so fast." But, the next thing I remember is realizing I had been hit and my car was probably badly broken. Had circumstances been a little different, had he been coming from a different way and maybe going a little faster, the outcome may have been completely different. My last thought could have been, "My God, he's going so fast." I don't remember him actually hitting me. I don't remember my car spinning down the road. It was like I skipped a moment in time. But, what if there hadn't been another moment in time.

I always try, sometime during my busy and stressful days, to stop for a few moments and pray to Saint Joseph for a happy death. I frequently remind myself that, if my last moment comes, to make some divine ejaculation to the Holy Spirit. I thought I would remember. I did not. Had that been my final moments in this life, I would have failed to pray to the Father for my immortal soul. It really is true that we don't know when our last moments will be, even when we may be in our last moments.

I am still shaken. I hesitate to get behind the wheel tomorrow to drive to work. I haven't slept in two nights because everytime I close my eyes, the accident plays itself repeatedly in my head. But, I learned something. As with all life's events, big and small, I took away a lesson. I must live my life for that moment. Because, God forbid, if it come sooner than expected, I don't want my last thought to be what ruins me forever. I must prepare my spiritual resume in case the end is seconds long.

So much has changed over the last four months. I am appalled at what a path my life has taken. I never would have seen myself where I am four months ago. As always, God sends more Crosses, but one unexpected blessing has come into my corner as well. All of this sumersaulted through my head Friday night and Saturday. With all of these Divine love notes, I must slow down. I need to live my life for Him, doing His will. I know enough to realize that my Father doesn't want me worrying about daily stresses. He doesn't like me running myself ragged. He wants me to calm down, take it slow, and focus on what matters. In this way, I can prepare for that day when the final moments come. And I will be sure that my soul is prepared, whether or not my thoughts are quite as quick.

All people have one desire in this short life, we long for love. Every being is given a chance to receive this love. Each person born into this life has a fair, equal chance to recieve the greatest gift of all time. Every person is given a family through which we are supposed to receive love.

Sometimes, though, these love-giving units from God are destroyed. This destruction comes from two sources. When we least expect it, when times are most jovial, death strikes. This great ultimate steals the life of those we value most. Other times, the Evil One steals into homes and lodges hate between the family members. These victim souls sadly do not know true, constant, unconditional love. They open their hearts to those it is most natural to allow in, and these people tear and cut the inside. The consequences are deep and silent, until actions by the ignorant cause defensive reactions from those terrified, deeply tortured souls. They trust no one, yet they reach out to everyone hoping to gain the love they starve for so greatly.

Sometimes, these people are given second chances. The One Who is Love sends them people--special people--who have been sent to repair the ache. These little saviours suffer rebuffs and refusals, but they push anyway. They aching soul finally recieves love, often for the first time. These people, often thought of as Angels, are friends.

These friends cannot concieve the immense vocation they are fulfilling. When the aching soul attempts to thank the angels, they humbly refuse the gratitude. The magic, the power, the grace of this affirming, healing, gift of love causes the soul to feel special, wanted, even need for the first time. And the Angels have no idea what they've done.

But, unlike families, these friends often have a far shorter time together. God sends them on to other souls. The aching soul wonders why--why is one given the gift of love only to have it taken away. Then, the answer comes.

These hungry, empty souls--so many in this life--are yearning to be filled. Those few who are given the blessing of friends are given a small, lesser taste of the Love one Man offers us. The angels gently take the hands of those hurting souls and walk them toward the Eternal Light. They give us a sample of true love during this short journey, leaving us thirsty for more but also newly cognizant of the source.
"Don't forget that we never really say good-bye,
we'll always be together in His Sacred Heart."
Those aching souls, now full, have a strange yearning to seek other empty, aching souls and, taking thier hands, give them the love that now fills every part of their being. They know the pain of loneliness and now they know love and the strong desire to fill the empty shells.

These we call friends do not leave us. They simply leave one another's company to continue thier selfless giving. Those now filled begin thier new quest to fill the desire of emptying one's self through love. All the friends find those who are alone and hurting. They fill and repair these souls. Through following this path, and after death comes to all those angelic souls, they truly do find themselves together in His Heart. Together, they rest in the Source of all true, good love. These friends, then, do us no disfavor in leaving; they simply continue walking towards His heart amassing souls. The choice lies with those now given it: Shall I follow? Thus, through our earthly friends, we truly meet our Eternal Friend.

A Random Realization

I really do not know why I thought the late nights and studying would end when I recieved my college diploma. Mistakenly, I assumed the cramming, intense reading and note taking, and class organization would end when my undergrad days did. I would pick those habits back up when I went back to school for my Master's. Not so much.

Every night this week has found me up as late as midnight, typing ideas on the computer or reading out of the school books. I've been trying to figure out what to teach and what to leave out, how to organize the classes, and how to make things run as smoothly as possible. I want to do right and teach those kids as best I can. I want them to know the Truth and know how to use it. I want to teach the kids properly, showing them that learning can be fun. I want to teach them how the Faith is in every aspect of our society.

The other night, a thought occurred to me. I think I discovered the real grain behind teaching. A good teacher wants to teach much; a great teacher wants to learn much. I am very excited to see what I learn this coming year. We think we know everything, but we all know so little. Most often, it is those who are younger than us who know more than we.

So, I shall keep my journey here, for those who care to follow along. And you, my humble reader, may share your thoughts with me.

Dancing Ladybugs

Recently, my three sisters and I were overjoyed when we found we'd be alone an entire weekend. My parents were leaving for a weekend to get some much needed relaxation. They left last Friday evening and we spent the weekend bonding, burning, and watching.

Saturday, after spending several hours getting sunburned at the pool, we came home pained and tired. Dinner, we decided would consist of the pizza Mom had left and enjoying home videos. As we travelled through the last five years of the Smith Family journey, I realized how much had changed in our lives. As we started out, we were still together as one family. But, that was short lived. We watched Justin prepare for and marry all over again, looked on as Drew left home to discover his own path, I left for College and graduated. Emily departed for College, as well, and began dating. Laura and Kathleen watched as their family separated.

The same weekend, my twin brother called with some saddening news. After suffering a great deal over the last few years, this was the straw that broke the camel's back. He lost it. And we cried with him. Kathleen, the youngest, let tears fall freely from her eyes. "I just want to hug him, but he's so far away. I hate being the youngest. I hate having to watch everyone leave!" How terribly sad.

When Justin got married, we children were thrilled. This meant nieces, nephews, and a wonderful wife. But, in a way, we were a little sad, too. The King of Narnia had relinquished his rule. The tight-knit, imaginative Smith clan had realized its first step towards dissolution. The eventual disbanding is inevitable and is something we children feared through out our entire childhood. Losing one another.

I used to think how lucky we were. We children went without so much, materially speaking. No televisions existed in our room, we could not fathom having our own telephone. But, we had each other. Especially we four older children. We spun creative games that would have marvelled even Aesop. Flying animals that saved the world from destruction. A magical kingdom that existed solely on imagination and Faith. Christmas in July and dancing ladybugs in December. Yes, we kids were blessed. And then came the end.

But, we were the end. While we older children bravely took the first step out of the nest, Kathleen and Laura were forced to watch, and stay behind. Yes, they had to suffer through four good-byes and the house became progressively quieter. The flying animals went their separate ways to save the world in different places. The ladybugs flew to different valleys. The King found a Queen. Now, Kathleen and Laura live for the days when the four older children are at home. When the house is full of screams and giggles again. They feed off of the still existent imagination of their older siblings when they are home. Which is not often enough.

As I think back to times long gone, I remember a young blond boy who wove threads of lore into fanciful games and five younger children who clapped and jumped, hanging on for the next idea. I recall a red-headed boy who quietly stood by his brother's side and made intricate toys from Lego's and string. I remember a small, blond girl who lived for each day and revelled in the magic of games. There was a brunette who stood right along side her older sister, waiting to go dance across their bedroom and pull out the Barbie tub. Then, two more girls followed, who were dubbed princesses and carried around on pillows. Time seemed to stretch on and the children lived for each Holiday, most especially Christmas. Magic seemed to perpetually exist visually in the air and one only had to reach out and grasp it.

Now, I see different times. The blond boy lives in South Dakota and has a wife and baby. He makes his family proud with his vast education and incredible job. The red-headed boy became sad and moved far away, still trying to find his way back. The small, blond girl feels acutely the pain of each member of her family as they struggle with their Crosses. She is graduated from College and is all grown up. The brunette holds a lot inside and has become quiet lately. She is in College now and has someone special. The two youngest girls watch quietly and patiently as their siblings go off to fight the good fight, to follow God's will. And sometimes they cry.

Taking the first step out of the nest was scary and daunting. To gather all one's courage and leap meant complete trust. However, I would not trade it for the other option. To be forced to watch a family slowly separate and expand has to be extremely painful. The entirety of my sisters' lives and memory has been saying good-bye. My sister Emily brought up a very good point: "When Kathleen became old enough to finally appreciate what was occurring around her, Justin left." We all soon followed suit. Thankfully, we have our Faith. As Justin has pointed out many times, we all must strive for Heaven. How often I have thought of this. In Heaven we shall never have to say good-bye ever again. Heaven will be the combination of dancing ladybugs in December and Christmas in July, of flying animals and tangible magic. Best of all, we shall all be together for eternity, with the real King, the One Who never relinquishes His rule.