My Sunday Night Bliss

This weekend was "Break Out With the Eighth Graders" at my church. Break Out is what my church calls youth group.

It is completely unorganized and unfortunately lacking in the student aspect.

Last night we had our eighth grader social where the eighth graders get to see a little bit of the high school aspect of youth ministry.

Over all I think the event went fairly well. There were more kids than I had expected-- I expected less than 10, there was over 20 kid there--- I was ecstatic!

I'm not saying this because I want to sound like a freak, but I feel completely and totally compelled to teach kids about God and His unending love. My youth group has showed me that.

My youth group is what I call a train wreck. But others call it a work in progress.

Why do I call it a train wreck--

1) Children get Confirmed in 8th grade. Something I believe shouldn't occur because I feel they don't fully understand the concept of Confirmation.
2) After Children are Confirmed they DON'T COME BACK! What I mean by this is that church to them is a blow off, youth group to them is a blow off, in short they pretty much say I'M DONE LEARNING! Why?! Because that is how they were raised. Which is terribly sad.
3) When the kids are there, there is absolutely no structure to it. It is a class. A teacher sitting up in front and children looking at them with blank, "I have no clue what your talking about old lady!" expressions on their face.

There is no fun aspect to Youth group at my church. It is either a social hour or "blank stare put-you-to-sleep-time".

In Wisconsin I had an amazing youth director. Joe Rausch. He was the one who lit that flame inside me and taught me about God. I thank God daily for that man.
What Joe did was he made learning about God fun. How? He didn't just make us sit there and listen he made us get involved. He made us actually understand the concept of Confirmation and why it's important to us by making us wait until 10th grade.
We don't do that in Illinois. We sit and listen. Don't get me wrong it's great meeting the people there, and there are a few who have a strong faith whom I love to be around, but the others... you catch my drift?

Coming from that amazingness that Joe Rausch, to this. It's like Shell Shock. I'm unable to grasp what they are trying to do here. I get that they want to get kids involved. But how? By letting them get confirmed without them understanding, then never seeing their faces again? It's mind-boggling to me.

I have prayed a lot about this subject, and well, being a kid with no say in my church.

PAUSE! let me tell you about my church...
It is made up of people who wear sweats to church who wear sunglasses during mass, who lean back in the pews instead of paying any attention to what is actually going on. My church doesn't revolve around the Eucharist, it revolves around the music-- don't get me wrong it's great music, but Jesus is more important than music. My church has people complain about the priest, or the new priests who are invited to our church. INVITED! At my church people make fun of the priest because he sings some parts of the mass they usually don't hear sung.

I'm hoping this little summary of my church helps you understand where I'm coming from..

If I wanted a say in how the youth group is worked. I would have to go and talk to Deacon Dennis, he is a fairly nice man, good morals, and good faith. However, Deacon Dennis doesn't believe in the youth, he thinks that we don't care. I, my friends, am willing to prove this man wrong. I have talked to the people doing youth groups and I have told them some of my ideas, and they have loved them.

( these ideas are the ones I've asked you to pray about)

But enough of me babbling. I really wanted to write about the eighth grade thing and got completely side tracked. I apologize.

During the eighth grade thing I felt God there. I felt the Holy Spirit. I felt the kids learning about Him and actually liking it.

I am hoping we can do more of this.

pray for it fellow LITs!

Lots of love from little ole Gurnee!
Praying for all of you!

~Michelle

Oh, Fred...

I had a little story from Mass today that I was going to expertly weave into a life lesson and insert with care into my previous blog post.  Yea, that didn't happen.

Deacon Dennis (or Fr. Jim, depending) always ask an opening questions/give a little get to know you topic for everyone to discuss with their neighbor.  Today, to fit right along with the reading, Deacon Dennis asked us to talk to the people next to us about whether or not we thought "God has been kind to us."

Conversation rumbled throughout the church, slowing dying off as people settled in and their small talk dried up.  The couple that always sit next to us as church (yea, we are one of those families) is incredibly ancient, hard of hearing, and probably on the verge of insanity.  They aren't married, but they come to church together most Sunday's.  They bicker back and forth constantly because Fred can never hear whats going on and she gets embarrassed when he spouts expressions of confusion and frustration.  Today, Fred was right on schedule for another raunchy comment.  Most of the church had fallen silent, but Fred still had more to say on the matter of God's will concerning his life.

"Considering how bad I am, I think he's been pretty damn generous."

I literally almost fell off the seat of the pew/peed my pants/snorted with laughter.  This, of course, bestowed me with a look of utter disgust from the little old ladies.

After regaining composure, I stood up for the opening song for Mass.  Shortly after the service had begun, I was nearly knocked out of my seat AGAIN.  This time, it wasn't Fred's lack of a filter.  No, this time it was a high pitched squealing in a range only dogs should be able to hear.  It sawed at my bones and made me cringe.  I tried my best not to squirm, but this is seriously the most annoying noise in the entire world.  (Except maybe for...nope, can't think of anything.)

I look over, and there is Fred, playing with his hearing aid.

Figures.

In the Bleak Midwinter...

I haven't felt like blogging lately.  To be honest, I haven't felt like doing much lately.  But really, I shouldn't be surprised.  It's February, and my body is right on schedule for the Mid-Winter Blues.

It's this time of year when nothing seems to go right (or maybe nothing is happening at all...?)  February is a horrible month (I've decided)  It is jammed right in the middle: too far away have the end in sight, but close enough to feel uncomfortable with the norm.  I'm squirmy and restless and bored and uncertain and uncomfortable and excited and insecure and hopeful and pessimistic and confused.  I have the ability to feel so much...but nothing is happening!  None of my plans ever seem to follow through.  I want to feel and see and look and touch and taste and live and laugh and love.  I have a hunger for culture and stories and adventure and beauty and history and the future and people and God and everything wonderful about His creation and how do I find that on a miserable February afternoon in a town with no Starbucks?

My body has this incredibly heavy feeling all of the time...I'm so disconnected from all of the people I love (and I want to love me?) and who inspire me to be the best possible version of myself.  The people who remind me...stop looking in that mirror and ripping yourself to shreds.  The people who grab me by the shoulders, spin me around, and force me to look to the cross.  I spend a lot of time by myself-there is no constant swim practice, and softball just hovers in the future.  When I'm around people, it is generally school functions.  To keep from punching stupid people/saying not nice things, I tend to keep to myself.  However, this leaves Alanna with far too much time to think. 

I contemplate the meaning of life (42.  Anyone?  Anyone?  Seriously.  Please tell me somebody out there has read Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy.  No?  Nobody?  Honestly people...live a little!)

I psych myself out about college.  What are the chances I will fail on a scale of epic proportions?  Is Marquette, MI going to suffocate me as much as Portage does?  I'm really not as intelligent as I think I am.  Do I have the balls to go get what I want out of life?  What happens if I'm not happy?

I worry about my carbon footprint.  I weigh the pros and cons of going all Henry David Thoreau on this world's ass and living alone in the woods.

I wait for the day when I can decorate my own house.  I want to paint the walls crazy colors, and hang lots of mirrors and paintings on the walls and I want my house to creak.  I want it to have personality!  There will be homemade quilts on a bed that swallows you whole.  I want long staircases and nooks and crannies and big sofas and a crackling fireplace and a huge farm with horses grazing out back and a giant kitchen full of fresh fruits and veggies and lots of pie and cookies and homemade bread.  I want a huge porch perfect for early morning with my cup of coffee.  Bliss?  I think so.

I miss my "friends" entirely too much and in fact get a bit obsessive.  I imagine hanging out with them and my brain comes up with dialogue for what we might say.  Sometimes I forget whether or not these things have actually happened.  I expect too much from our relationships (really, what right do I have to expect a text back?)  I've found it incredibly hard to figure out how to stay in touch without...touching.  (Don't take that the wrong way.)  There are these friendships that I want to keep alive so badly and yet...I can't think of a way to hold on.

I think about colors.  They sort of make me drool.  Who sits in class and instead of conjugating German verbs thinks about what would happen if she mixed these two colors....?  Mmmhmmm.  You guessed it.  This girl!

I get angry.  Like, really angry.  My mind tries to wrap itself around the things I'm feeling and when I can't seem to grasp it (or just can't find words to describe it) I tear myself apart trying to figure it out.  I falsely place blame, and I know what I really should be blaming is myself.  And I do blame myself, for a lot of conflict and hard feelings and mistakes and misunderstandings.  (How does one become a people person?)

I struggle with the ideas of Confidence and Humility.  I know that I'm incredibly fantabulous.  But, whenever I have a thought about how awesome I am, I get hit by this wave of questions.  Why do I have the right to think this about myself?  Why do I deserve love and respect?  What was I thinking, expecting so much out of someone?  Its a vicious cycle, and there is such fine line between loving and hating yourself.  I recently found this in a novel I was reading last week:

"It's disturbing how fast weeds take root in my garden of worthiness.  They're so had to pull.  And grow back so easily."

At the top of my To Do List has been to FORGIVE.  Can you imagine how hard it is to ask for forgiveness when I haven't figured out how to give it?  Today's rosary before Mass (I think.  I hope.) was the first step.   The Lord's Prayer.  It comes between each decade.  Who would have thought it would hold the answer to my questions?  (I know, ridiculous right?)

"And forgive us our trespasses,  as we forgive those who trespass against us."

DUH.  Someone kick me please, for looking everywhere but the Lord's Prayer.  (Ok, so I knew it all along.  It's the forgiving those who trespass against me part that is the problem...)

It's true, I'm sort of an emotional wreck.  (But I seriously can't explain why.  There really isn't anything wrong.  )  Mostly, I just miss ya'll.  And I wish I had immediate veto power over everything my mother ever says.  However, none of these things are easily remedied.  Such is life.

Stay classy, LITs.  Much love, many laughs, and a whole lot of awesome.
 Alanna

When You Let Your Walls Fall to the Ground

I am exhausted.

PS: To save you the time of scrolling down, this is Taylor.

Seriously. Physically and emotionally exhausted. These last few days have been such a wonderful, awesome, terrible, beautiful roller coaster of a weekend. I went to Resurrection Rally with Jenna's parish, along with Glenna and Alanna and oodles of Camp Gray staffers who are completely wonderful.

Before I get to the meat of this post, I must apologize to you, friends. These last few months have been incredibly stressful. My classes are terrible; colleges are beckoning; I have been frustrated with RCIA. Because of these reasons, I never had time and never made the time to blog (nor could I ever think of anything interesting to blog about). I used to want to write things to you every single day, but I'm kind of losing my creativity. Sorry, LITs!

Also, I feel like I should clue you in on what's been happening in my life since I haven't had a heart to heart with some of you in an incredibly long time. Especially the awesome things that make me realize how wonderful Jesus is every single day. You see, friends, ever since I first made my decision I have considered myself a Catholic fetus. I mean, I'm not technically Catholic yet, but I'm in preparation. So yes, I am in the theoretical womb of Jesus (feel free to picture this, if it would help you understand what I'm talking about). As many of you know, I will be accepted into the Catholic Church on April 23, 2011 at the Easter Vigil. Well, in a recent look at my calendar, I decided to see exactly how long I had been waiting, so that I could make a fraction to show myself how far I've come and how little I have to go. I realized the most unbelievable thing: I made my decision on July 23, 2010. Yes, friends, that is exactly nine months from the date that I will become Catholic. Jesus is so incredible. I mean, seriously. That doesn't just happen. He was showing me His Grace, and it took me six months to realize it.

Back to my original intention: I am exhausted.

This weekend started with a meeting between Glenna and I at the Starbucks at Greenway Station. We met, ran over to Milio's to get dinner, and headed to St John's in Waunakee, where Jenna works. We met a few of the girls from St John's and stuffed twelve bean bag chairs in Glenna's backseat/trunk (which I wish we would have gotten a picture of. We used teamwork to look out the other mirrors to stay safe).

Glenna and I always have good conversations. I don't know, it just works. And we never seem to be able to stop talking once we start. Halfway through the ride, though, we were both out of words. The most beautiful sunset I have ever seen took over the entire sky. No words I can say could ever describe it. We did not speak for thirty minutes. It was so perfect, so telling of what was to come. God showed us how beautiful His work is, and He continued to do so throughout the weekend. I wish I knew more beautiful adjectives so that I could properly describe this, but I can't. And since neither Glenna nor I brought a camera, I will settle for this picture, courtesy of Sally Schremp. It is not the best quality, but I dare you to try to take a picture of the most beautiful thing in a world while inside a moving vehicle on a freezing February afternoon.

The purples, pinks, and blues stretched completely across the sky. As I said, it was the most beautiful sunset I have ever seen. Ever.

Then we got there, and though it should have been awkward because Glenna and I were just thrown into a heap of unfamiliar girls, we couldn't get over the beauty we had just witnessed, so we didn't notice anything awkward. Everything was hectic for a while as we helped check in and set up; Alanna arrived, we saw familiar faces, we played ice breaker games (I also realized that one of the youth ministers is the fastest speed walker I have ever met in my entire life (and I'm 99% sure he went easy on me so that I could tag him, but I'm okay with that)). We had an evening filled with songs and prayer and lots of enthusiastic people, and then went to the water park. Note to self: don't leave your swimsuit and towel on your bed at home. It results in very wet shorts and a T-shirt. I also beat Glenna and Alanna while racing down water slides, no big. Don't let them tell you any differently--I went when the woman said to go; it's not my fault they can't hear.

We were all tired when we went back to the room. I was so worried, though: being in a huge community of vibrantly Catholic people was awful. I mean, in one sense, it was the best thing in the entire world, but I hated how jealous I was. So I had planned on talking to Jenna for ten minutes about how I was constantly being taunted, but I ended up keeping her up until almost two o'clock (which is just shocking! I have never, ever kept Jenna up late talking about Jesus...). She's an awesome sponsor, though, and helped me become stable enough to go to sleep.

The next day, Saturday morning, I woke up at seven. Yes, I understand that getting only five hours of sleep is not very good for me, but it was necessary. And God helped me out--I was rarely tired yesterday. Anyway, after showering/eating breakfast, we got the opportunity to pray the rosary in a small group. By small, I would guess there were fifty people in that small room. It was awesome--people were on chairs, standing, sitting, everywhere. Bill was leading it. Obviously, he's been around for virtually every part of my conversion, so he knows how important and influential the rosary has been for me. I love it, yes--but I was terrified when he asked me to lead a decade. I mean, that lasted about 30 seconds, until I reminded myself that I wouldn't mess up, and even if I did, no one would judge me, since it was all for Jesus.

I had forgotten how much I love to lead the rosary. I mean, I can pray it alone all I want, and I've done it in a group a few times over the last few months, but it has been so long since I've actually been in charge of some of it. It was so beautiful--so many voices in unison offering up our prayers to the Blessed Mother. It went too quickly, though. As quickly as it started, it was finished, and I didn't move. I couldn't move. The shuffling of bodies out of that room brought me back to reality.

After another couple of hours of testimonies and singing, we went to different workshops. I heard Molly talk about the beauty of small acts of love, of the works of Mother Theresa and Saint Therese and the story behind Love Begins Here. I also heard Bill talk about himself and get far too much attention from swooning high school girls. We got together with our parish (or the parish that adopted us for the weekend) and talked about the workshops, which didn't last long. It was good, though, to see people really thinking about what they heard and applying it to themselves.

I had the most wonderful talk with Kristen, which we have been trying to have since summer. I got to rant about how jealous I was and she got to solve my life problems. I'd say it's a win-win situation. After the Chula Vista cleaning crew had finished stacking all the chairs but the two we were sitting in, we figured it was time to stop. I helped set up for the Examination of Conscience activity, which would happen later. I also got a chance to talk to both Lauren and Kristen about how much I hate waiting (seriously, I think I ranted to half of Camp Gray's staff about how long these next two months and sixteen days are going to be).

When they had to get actual work done, I went to my room. Glenna was talking to Jenna and Alanna was playing games and making friends, so I was alone. It was actually very nice. I mean, I love them to death, obviously, but I needed time alone with God. Oh! Side note! I won a pocket prayer book. Lindsay Becher and company had taped kazoos under the chairs of three or four chairs, along with a piece of paper that said "WINNER!!!" I won, no big. That'll teach Alanna and Glenna to make me sit on the outside. Somehow I was the only winner whose kazoo was nowhere to be found. That's cool, though, I like my real prize better (I also really liked showing Glenn and Al that I was, in fact, a "WINNER!!!" So I prayed out of my book, and once Alanna got back, we prayed together. It was really nice, because we hadn't gotten much one-on-one time yet. As we were finishing, Glenna walked in, and we all quickly got changed for dinner.

The three of us sat at a table with people we've never met, and tried not to make things any more awkward than they needed to be. We failed, obvi, but it was still fun. I realized that if you're at a large gathering, always take the apple crisp. The chocolate cake will do nothing but disappoint.

Then came adoration. I didn't expect it, but I was a complete mess. I literally cried the entire time. I couldn't believe that Jesus was so close, and I couldn't keep my focus on just myself and Jesus. I kept seeing the girls laughing in front of me, or the boy reclining in the row next to mine. I couldn't believe the irreverence, and I was so angry and ashamed. Plus, then, I was mad at myself, because who am I to judge these people? I don't know what experiences they've had. Perhaps they're really connecting with Jesus. Perhaps the picture of a butterfly on the paper of the girl in front of me was really her way of growing closer to God. And of course I'm doing it again. But hey, jealousy is not a good trait. After a while, Kristen made an announcement for Lectio Divina in one of the side rooms. I thought this would be perfect--it could get my mind off of people, and I could just focus on the Word. After just setting up chairs and being told, inoffensively, that I looked like a raccoon from crying my make up off, I realized that there was no chance I could make it. My tears got even worse, so I returned to my place in the main room. It kept getting worse and worse, and because I thought Mass was approaching soon, I went to look for Jenna. We talked, and by the time we were finished and I had calmed down Mass had already started. I was absolutely fine throughout the entire thing--I sang along, I did everything I was supposed to--until it was time for communion. I may have seemed fine if I had just been allowed to silently judge and hate on people who were just receiving without appreciating, but Jenna leaned over to me and told me to block out everyone else, to just focus on Jesus and me.

Okay, I lost it. In the middle of this huge room, filled with 300 people. Jenna's comment shifted my focus onto my own struggle: my desire for the Eucharist. I would give anything to receive Jesus, friends. Mo-T told me tonight about Blessed Imelda Lambertini, who had such a desire for the Eucharist that God brought her to heaven directly after her first reception--when she was eleven. Obviously I am far less holy than this saint, but it totally resonated with me. I have such a need inside of me for the body of Jesus, and I can't imagine wanting it any more than I do now. So I was a blubbering fool throughout communion and the closing song. Jenna grabbed me and the priest blessed me, which was completely wonderful because he had just held the BODY OF CHRIST in his hands, and now he was holding my forehead, blessing my journey (and giving me a Christian side hug!). I couldn't stop the tears, so I went back to my seat after we were finished. I knelt before Jesus and before I knew it, everyone had left. Lauren and Kristen made me stop crying, then made me start crying, then made me start again. They said things that I'll never forget, and I love them so much for it. I've known them four years, and they've never been around me when I'm in serious spiritual disparity. They brought me Kleenex, in true mom fashion, and reminded me that the pain is a good thing. Bill came over after, reminded me that no, it isn't fair, but it's going to make that Easter Vigil a thousand times more beautiful and powerful. Honestly, friends, that night was so ridiculously stressful and emotionally draining, but I'm so glad it happened. I have wanted for so long to just express my emotions about this, but I've never been able. Granted, I would have rather had about 300 less people with me when I actually did, but I'm not going to challenge Christ's plan for me.

I had a long talk with Glenna and Alanna that night, which was so beneficial, but it just added to my exhaustion. I also saw my wonderful, beautiful, perfectly made friend Jill whom I was a camper with four years ago. She has grown so much, and it is wonderful to see how God pushes her to strengthen her faith.

This morning (or yesterday morning, since it's now Monday morning), everyone prayed the rosary together. There were four emcees, not enough to complete each decade, so I volunteered to lead one. I mean, if I can't receive Jesus, I am going to do everything in my power to show Him that I am completely in love with Him, and that Mary is the most beautiful and perfect human to ever live. And in order to show Him, sometimes that means speaking into a microphone to lead hundreds of people in prayer. It's cool, I'm not Catholic yet, so I would have had an excuse, had I made a mistake.

After many long goodbyes, we finally left. All together, I got nine hours of sleep this weekend. Yes, half of what I should have gotten. Plus I had used up more tears then than I have in the last six months. So, like I said, I am completely exhausted. Which is why, despite more awesome things happening tonight that are worth sharing, I have to go to bed.

I love you all, and I am always praying for you.
God bless.
Taylor

You Shattered My Darkness, Washed Away My Blindness

Hey all,

Before I say anything more, let me note that I have been following this blog continuously over the past few months, and would post more, however, all of your wonderful posts make my ideas seem a bit shabby. Needless to say, I have finally come up with a few ideas that I hope to get up here in the upcoming days/weeks that consist of three main ideas and/or stories. Firstly, mainly the story part of this mini series is found in the depths of this first post relating to how God has recently helped me snap my life back in to the right perspective and focus my attention on what is truly important: God and all his glory, and how I can better serve and worship him. This story is then tied in to the second of these new ideas I've been blessed to come up with, how often we forget why we go to church, and contains some recent news about how we interact with our fellow parishoners and priests. The third and final thought, is a bit of a tangent from the other two, it relates to the idea of sadness and how it relates to our souls when we reach the heavenly gates of our father's kingdom.

On to the main event then. This story focuses on how my newfound desire to be a part of our most Holy Catholic Church had begun to slip, and how God reminded me what he had in mind for my faith future. So pretty much since Cross Country began, I found myself losing sight of God, and losing focus on how I can be the best I can in order to praise him and worship him. I was so focused on being making the All-State team that I was willing to sacrifice anything to achieve it. This desire to succeed seemed to drown out anything else in my mind, and I could barely do anything without it burning its way in to my thoughts. Finally, the State meet came, and instead of making first team like I wanted, I had one of my poorest performances of the season (which I also thank God for, since I have now come to realize it was his way of telling me, "Forget me, and you forget the ability to succeed in using the gifts I have given you." Not to give you the wrong idea, I still made the All-State honorable mentions list, however I was still pretty steamed/ crushed about having fallen so short of my goal of first team (For reference, 1st team & 2nd team consist of the top 40 runners in the state, regardless of division, and honorable mention is the next 10 after those 40). So what did I do, did I step back and start looking for God in my hour of disappointment? Did I let go of this fervent desire to be one of the best that was choking me off from the world? No, instead I chose to refocus this incessant, unceasing desire (Desire isn't really the right word for this feeling, however I have yet to find a word that accurately describes exactly what I was feeling, and desire is the closest) on another race, a national qualifying meet in late november. I trained and trained through november, everyday by myself regardless of conditions or how I felt. I was so confident, arrogant in myself and what I had accomplished, that I forgot that it was God who had blessed me with this passion and ability to train unceasingly and to achieve what I wouldn't have thought possible a year ago. So, a week before the meet, he decided to remind me yet again, that he was still there, and that he was still my all powerful creator who can take away, as easily as he can give. He gave me this second nudge in the form of Plantar Fachiitis in my right foot (I know, sounds scary, but really isn't too bad. It's basically an overworked tendon in the base of your foot that stretches from heel to toes, and will cause you a lot of pain if you aren't careful). Turns out, my own desire to train so fervently had led to this injury, which would now cost me my final 8 days of training, by not paying attention to the fact that my running shoes had become so beat up, that they were no longer properly supporting my feet (hence the PF).

I know what you're thinking, "Dan, you must have gotten the hint by now right?" Sorry, you're wrong, I just got mad, and figured I could still train light and hopefully still do well at the meet. Well, the day of the meet came, and I had agreed to drive some friends of mine up to the meet (which is in Kenosha) with me. Again, I hate to pause for explanations, but this is a key point that if you don't understand, may lead to some confusion. Originally, I had planned to run in the boys seeded race, which is the race that if you finish in the top 10, you qualify for the national meet. This is not the only race you can run though, there is a second race for Junior and Senior boys who are talented, but may not be quite up to the level of the national qualifying guys (guys like me who are pretty good, but really have no real hope of qualifying for the national meet). Everyone understand? Excellent! Back to the story then. On my way up, my friends convinced me that since I was already injured, why not run the lower stakes Jr./Sr. race and maybe win a shiny medal (how exciting!). Finally, I agreed and decided to run with them in the unseeded (junior/senior) race. Skip to the starting line, 5 minutes before race time, as I walked around, finishing my pre-race warm up, a thought struck me. As I stood next to the starting line, my thoughts about Camp, and all of you wonderful LIT's, a certain supervisor, and a certain seminarian, I thought about God. It was a good feeling, and then I decided to pray. I asked God to help me through the race, and I offered up all the suffering I was about to endure (let's be honest, races aren't really "fun" until you finish) to him. The gun went off, and the battle of wills, hearts, and minds began. I'll spare you the blow by blow race account and skip to the end, it involves me sprinting past the leader and winning the race (my first win of my high school career I might add, coincidence between that and my prayer, I think not). I was all excited and thrilled and yada yada so let's skip to the next portion of our story. A week after that weekend, after a few months of missing out on celebration our father and sharing the holy eucharist in the holy mass, Taylor got me to come for another service at St. Pauls. Let me just say, I had forgotten just how great mass is. I can't say I remember every detail of it, but I do remember a familiar peace of mind returned to me during it, and while I was praying, this whole experience snapped life back into perspective for me and how I had failed to remember how great God truly is, and how he is always there for us when we are willing to let him in.

One more thing before I go, notice how I didn't say that it was my own training and guts that won the race, in fact, I really didn't do all that much other than turn my legs over. God came to me during that race. Everytime I wanted to give up, wanted to slow down to avoid any more pain, a little voice in my head kept telling me, "keep going, you can do it, I believe in you." I know for a fact that this voice wasn't mine, it was God, telling me he still believed in me. It's truly amazing how willing God is to forgive you no matter how many times you sin, no matter how long you shut him out for, he's still there, with open arms waiting for you to invite him in.

That's all I have for now, I hope this post finds all of you in great places in your lives and filled with God's wonder and love.

Peace and Love to all of you,
Dan(ny)

On A Snowy Winter's Day...

I tried to go to Mass this morning.  I really did.  Alas, it took my dad two hours or more to plow our driveway, and, at 4:00 p.m., a snowplow has still not visited our road.  The worse part is, my initial reaction was to be disappointed because I couldn't purchase more Fair Trade chocolate this morning...maybe I need to take a second to rearrange my priorities?

Taylor requested that I blog.  I don't actually have anything to say, but I'm going to pretend like I do.  I'm generally good at making things up.  

Not lying!  Lying is a sin.  Storytelling?  Random nonsense?  Yeah, I'll go with that.

After devouring a delicious breakfast of scrambled eggs, mini wheat bagel with peanut butter, and strawberries (which were delightful good for be so tragically out of season), I curled up on the futon with Jane Eyre.  Who doesn't love 19th century romance at 9 in the morning?  I am especially fond one peculiar moment when Mr. Rochester dresses up as a gypsy woman who insists on telling the fortunes of all of the guests at Thornfield, separately, just so he could gage whether or not Jane loved him.  Oh, the things we do for love!

Then, I ate some gold fish. I love gold fish.  The snack-that-smiles-back kind, not the dead-after-one-day-home-in-a-bowl kind.  It was about two weeks ago, and I was doing homework one night and my mom came into my room and asked me how I was doing.  Any normal person would have complained about the stress of homework or that they were about to fall asleep.  Instead, I jumped up and screamed "I WANT SOME GOLDFISH!!!"  She was quite taken aback.  I was even a little frightened after my outburst.  (But, man, did I have a craving for goldfish.)

The gold fish proved to be a suitable companion for a governess in the English countryside.  Yum. 

Then there was the frustration over FOX network and the fact that it didn't work and my dad was missing the Packer game.  (He very much enjoys making fun of all those die hard fans.  "I bet all kinds of guys are going CRAZY today," he commented, 5 seconds after he begged me to figure out what was wrong with the damn TV.)

Eventually, the station came back on.  "Well, I wouldn't have really cared if I didn't get to see the game today.  But now I get to watch, and that's ok too," said my father. " Even if they lose, I won't care.  I'm completely apathetic about whether or not the Packers do well."  (Or something like that)  This comment was made approx 10 seconds before he began to moan and groan and shout at the screen about how awful they were playing.  Apathetic?
Riiiiiiight.  

I retreated back to my room to work on scholarship applications.  A good twenty minutes or so into my 367th visit to Facebook, my mom came in to inform me that Aaron Rodgers had gotten a "Boo-Boo."  So concussions are "Boo-Boos" now?  Good to know the next time I concuss my brain I'll just tell you I "got a little Boo-Boo!"

Then, my family watched the Metrodome collapse.  We guffawed, then laughed.

That was about the end of the excitement for today.  I've been writing an essay for admission into the Honors program at Stout.  Even though I don't actually plan on going there.  But, you know, gotta cover my bases.

It's decision making time, when it comes to colleges and stuff.  I'm applying for countless scholarships, honors programs, and fellowships.  I'm totally overwhelmed with paperwork, recommendation letters, and essays about what I want to be when I grow up.  

To inspire me, I found this quote.

"Jesus, help me to simplify my life by learning what you want me to be - and becoming that person." ~St. Therese of Liseux

I've pretty much figured out that art is what I'm meant to do.  In what aspect, I have no idea.  But for now, it feels right.  I'm just trying to figure out where I'm meant to go.  Because heading to Marquette, Michigan-the largest city in the UP at a grand total of 20,000 people-is pretty likely, this whole Snowpocalypse thing is good for me.  Bring it on, Northern Michigan.  Bring. It. ON.  (I found this article on a blizzard that hit the UP last January.  Winter Wonderland?)

Taylor, you're welcome.  Now it's your turn.

Alanna!

Hail Mary, Full of Grace

I don't know if it's even possible for me to explain the deep respect and love I feel for the Blessed Mother.

 

I am constantly taken aback by how perfect she is. I mean, seriously, she is perfect, and it's just so much to comprehend. You all know how big of an impact Mary has had on me, and the special place she holds in my heart (in case you've forgotten, check out my initial blog post explaining how she grabbed a hold of my heart and refused to let go). Perhaps it was due to the closeness I've always felt with my own mother; perhaps it was due to the lack of depth my faith had up until that point; perhaps it was due to some reason that only the Blessed Family knows--regardless, Mary opened up an entire new spectrum of beauty for me, one that I never would have found on my own.

So now, I want to honor her. I want to show her that for all she has done for me, I want to honor her in a way that will glorify her actions and show people her love. I mean, think about it. She is perfect. Of course we can look to our fellow saints or the highly-praised Saints for guidance, but ultimately they are all flawed. We are all flawed. Mary alone is the perfect human being. She is what God intended humanity to be. It completely humbles me all the time. I try so hard to be a faithful Christian, and in doing so I try to bring other people with me--but ultimately, I am so terribly flawed. Mary isn't. She lived to glorify God. I want to live to glorify God.

In this past week, I've been visiting a certain blog very often. It is that of Father Eric Sternberg, one of the priests from St. Paul's. He has been talking a lot about Marian Piety, which really gets me excited. I love soaking up knowledge and learning more and more about our mother. He kind of touches on one of the things I love most about Catholicism: "as Pope Benedict XVI stated in his most recent apostolic exultation Verbum Domini, 'Catholics are not a people of the book; they are a people of the Word.'"  I love this. I love that the teachings of the Church are not limited to what is said in the Bible. It is a living faith, not a faith based off of a book. Saints continue to be canonized and Mary continues showing herself to people around the world. The beauty of this faith stays alive, and a huge part of that is because of Mary.

My point here is that I want to show Mary--and the rest of the world--how beautiful she really is. I'm really into routine, as Alanna talked about a little in her last post, so I've begun incorporating Mary into my daily routine. I don't commit to saying the rosary daily. I wish I could, but in trying that I had lost the feeling, the love of praying it, and I couldn't let that happen. I wasn't going to let the act of prayer be some sort of burden. So instead, I pray it when I need Mary, I pray it when I'm overwhelmed by her love; I pray it when I'm with someone holy (or, in a holy place, like I was last week during one of the best nights of my life!). Like always, friends, I'm sure I will (if I haven't already) sound like a washed-up wannabe motivational speaker, but you are all nice and loving people, so I assume you will forgive me. Please incorporate Mary into your day. When school gets stressful, say a Hail Mary. When homework gets unbearable, pray the rosary. When friends and family and life seem too overwhelming and awful, type in Blessed Mother on Flickr (which will first show you Mother Teresa, a completely amazing woman whom we should all strive to be like, but will soon show you beautiful statues of Mary... and also some strange little girl that takes far too many pictures of herself). Look to her in times of struggle, but praise her in times of joy. She intercedes in our prayers. She strengthens them and makes them perfect for Jesus, perfectly worthy to be heard by our Lord. She is perfect. We can't fully understand it, but it's true. Love her for it; show her your love. Even better? Show your love for Mary by showing your love for Jesus. I promise, she'll be even more honored.

Try it out, friends. See what happens.

Love you, praying for you.

Taylor