The Year Without a Mommom

"If you are not living, if you have died, 

all the leaves will fall, 

if will rain upon my soul night and day, 

the snow will burn my heart, 

I shall walk with cold and fire and death and snow, 

my feet will want to march toward where you sleep, 

but I shall go on living, 

because you wanted me to..."

- Pablo Neruda, "La Muerta"

     Perhaps you've seen the very popular Christmas show from the 70s, "The Year Without A Santa Claus." Maybe you remember that Santa Claus decides to take a vacation during Christmas because he doesn't feel that people actually believe in him anymore. Or maybe you remember the argument the Heat Miser has with the Snow Miser in their popular duet. Or maybe you remember that Mrs. Claus attempts to make things right again. Or maybe you remember Jingle and Jangle, the reindeer, Vixen and their friend Iggy who are trying to make people believe again in Southtown. But for me, what I remember the most, is all the chaos when Santa Claus takes a vacation and how nothing seems right at all when this staple character just calls it quits suddenly. 

     Today, January 10th, 2017, marks the one year anniversary of my Mommom's sudden passing. It's been "The Year Without a Mommom." It's been a year of chaos since and there's been many Heat and Snow Misers, Jingles, Jangles, Vixens, Iggys and even multiple Mrs. Clauses. Over all this past year has been filled with people trying to make it right again. But the truth is, when the main character in your life takes a vacation, no one can actually it right again except the person themselves. 

     So many people have openly said that 2016 was the worst year of their lives. As I drove to our New Year's Eve gathering, Joe said something along the lines of, "A lot of people hated this year, but I didn't think it was that bad." To which I responded, more harshly than I ever would intend, "Yeah, but can you understand that for someone like, it was the worst. Ten days into 2016, I lost my best friend." There was silence after that as he put his hand on my shoulder and let tears drip down my face as we continued the drive. 

      Sunday, at Mass, I was overcome with sadness. I couldn't sing. I couldn't speak. I couldn't even go through the motions. I just silently sat at the end of the pew letting tears flow down my face and into one of the many giant, fluffy scarves I own. I was sad and I didn't want to be there. Not because I was mad at God - no, that was never the case. But rather because, last year on a Sunday, I was sitting in Mass, just a few hours before I would get the call that my Mommom was no longer with us. I kept thinking during Mass, what would I have done differently if I had known that in a few hours my Mommom would no longer be alive? Would I still go to the gym? Would I still waste hours driving down the highway to a friend's house? No, probably not. I know where I'd be - her house, with her, holding her hand for what might be the last time. 

       People say death changes you...the experience of death, that is. I've experienced death before and for the longest time, I felt that it helped me feel more. I would say that all the death I've experienced broke my heart open more and more. But nothing broke me more than the death of my Mommom. And to be honest, it changed me in a different way.

      

      She's in everything I do. She's the echo in the halls when I'm walking around school. She's in every quiet second I have. She's in every song on the radio. She's on every road I drive, every corner I turn, every bottle of wine in the wine store. She's in every corner of every room, every line of poetry, every drop of ink I write on every piece of paper. She is in every cup of coffee, every teaspoon of sugar, every ounce of flavor. She is in every tear and every smile. She's in every picture I take, every song I belt out pathetically in the car. She's on every mountain I climb, every waterfall I dance in, every single second of every day. By which I mean, I feel the emptiness of her presence in all this. 

      I haven't spent every moment of the past year in sadness, she wouldn't want that. I just can't help but feel the lack of her presence in every thing I do. I can't help but think that I would have laughed a little more on Thanksgiving, and snuggled a little more at Christmas. I would have made more desserts and more dinners for her. I would have dyed more eggs at Easter time, I would have sang more songs at the family reunion. I would have danced a little harder at every gathering I had with my friends. But something was missing.

     Now I know that many would agree, "Mommom is always with me." But she's not in the sense that I had been so used to for 23 years. I miss her hugs. I miss her smothering me with kisses. I miss her directing the show in the kitchen on the holidays. I miss the sound of her voice. I know she's here. I know I can always talk to her. But it's just not the same. Mommom's death changed me. It made me more conscious of who I am in relation to her - in so many senses, I am my grandmother's granddaughter. It made me okay with letting myself feel whenever I need to feel - when something reminds me of her and I feel sad, I don't hold back tears. It made me tougher - I'm not sure if I like it, but it made me tougher. It made me even more of a family girl - when I hang out with people, I want to hang out with their families, and as much as my family drives me crazy, I actually like when we sit around the table and roast the nearest human being. It made me more conscious of a lot of things, more than I can even mention here. Some people say that when you lose someone close like that you stop feeling. But for me, I think I started. 

     The year without a Mommom has been anything but easy. I've had so many happy moments, joyous ones, ones filled with laughter. Yet, her void has been felt in every second, of every minute, of every day. I miss everything about her from her shaking her head at me in complete misunderstanding, to her boisterous hugs and kisses, to her random Facebook comments. Mommom had the ability to always make me feel like I was important, that I had a fan club (a fan club of one, but still). She always knew what I was up to, always asked questions about my adventures or my latest interest, and supported me in everything I did. She would have known what I did on Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and every weekend. She wouldn't ask what I was doing, but rather, she would ask about how it went. She'd ask, "how was class/soup kitchen/tutoring/school/Joe's?" She just knew what I was up to and made sure I knew she cared. 

      I miss that. I miss it because without her I've felt lonely. I've felt lonelier than ever, despite being almost always surrounded by people.  The felt of being lonely in a crowded room - a daily occurrence. And yet, here I am, sitting at my desk, with the sun shining directly on me. It's almost too bright for me to see the computer screen. Her love was like that - so bright, so obnoxious, so big, and so warm. I know it's her. I know she's with me always, of this I am sure. But that doesn't mean some days are harder than others and some days I just want to cry because I miss her. She was a beautiful woman who loved so much and I hope, if there's one thing I do with my life, it's love as greatly as she did. How rare and beautiful it is, truly to exist! 

New Year, New Perspective

"Dare to be the best you can -

at all times, dare to be."

- Steve Maraboli

    The memes have come and gone, much like the year 2016 itself, about how terrible a year it was. Generally one with a sunny disposition and positive outlook on life, I couldn't help but agree. The amount of loss I suffered, starting only ten days into the new year, was astronomical in my perspective. From my best friend, my mommom, to many other family members, friends and classmates, the deaths were too many, too quickly. It was a rocky year for other reasons, too, and overall I felt like I fell into the practice of finding the negative more than finding the positive. I was down on my self, I wasn't very happy most of time and I probably brought others down by being tired, exhausted and downright miserable at times. For a girl who tends to like even years better than odd years, I definitely was not a fan of 2016.
    So at midnight on December 31, I rang in the new year with some friends and a dog. It was quieter than usual, but still a good ringing in none the less. New Year's Eve is one of my favorite nights of the year. There's magic or wonder and awe present. I never spent NYE in a bustling, loud place. Usually it was with close friends or even alone in my room. Since I almost never let my eyes see the other side of the night, staying up til midnight was always a big deal, too. It's the latest I ever stay up and there's something so amazing about watching time change - one year to the next. Now some may say that the minute, seconds even in which the new year comes, is nothing more than that - a minute, a few seconds. But for me it is quiet, silence and suddenly the loud, fruitful, celebration in which a new year is born. The gentle reminder that with each death comes brand new life. There's fireworks and noise makers and pots and pans and NYE kisses and hugs and well wishes. How can you not love a celebration like that? All the noise for just another minute.
     We spent our New Year's Day sleeping in, eating donuts and drinking coffee (which led me to my first resolution: eat more consciously), and finally deciding to take a hike. Four friends and a dog hiking. Sounds like the title of my next big seller by which I mean, the next very boring story I tell in the faculty lunch room for the next week. But hey, a girl can dream. It was warmer than usual in January, temps flirting with 50. We were ready for a great few hours in the woods. We started in Valley Forge, hiking up Mt. Misery, realizing slowly but surely and quite stubbornly, that we were all out of shape. Which led me to my next resolution: hike more mileage, gain more muscle strength! We hiked to the end of the park and decided to keep going on a trail called Horse Shoe Trail. About 2.5 miles out of the park, we realized the true length of this trail: 140 miles to Harrisburg. Needless to say, we turned around, taking the low trail (once back in the park) back to the parking lot. For a brief 45 minutes, girls separated from boys, taking what we each thought was the best way back to car. A little friendly competition, which ended in the girls successfully making it back and the boys needing to be picked up by car since they got lost. But, we won't hold it over their heads for much longer. We ended our day with dinner...again, please see resolution number one.
     We laughed, we talked, we spent the day without worrying (resolution #5 - stress less, be blessed), we spent some time in silence, in wonder and awe, and listening, perhaps, only the heart beat of each other, found in the sound of our footsteps. It was a beautiful day and I wouldn't have wanted to spend it any other day. Nature is my favorite place to be. I spent the day in a beautiful place, with beautiful people, in a beautiful way. What more could I ask for? We documented some of the 24 hours together in joyous videos and pictures, but only because one of my goals was to make more home videos. You know, so my future family members can enjoy all the stories I have after I've forgotten them (please note: not a resolution, but more so, #lifegoal). I felt incredibly blessed and even though I was beginning to feel a cold coming on, I was happy. Stuffy and happy.
     The beginning of a cold became a full cold by Monday morning, and I was grateful for an additional day off to recoup as much as possible. I went to Mass and spent some time with the Sisters at St. Katherine's since I hadn't seen them all break (not the norm for me!). I had to bail out on the rest of the day, though, since the cold really was bogging me down minute by minute. A day spent snuggled in bed with my dog was what the rainy day called for. When I woke up, I decided it was time to get cracking on some resolutions, some goals and some writing. I opened a fresh journal and from the comfort of my own bed, re-visited the warmer, sunny weather, the mountains and foothills of Valley Forge, and of course, the laughter and stories from yesterday. Now we all know that writing down goals makes them more tangible and so, I did it. I wrote them down. In addition to the three I've already mentioned, I also have #3 write more often, #4 deepen my prayer life and #6 do something (anything) big and life-changing. It's day three of the new year and I can say that I'm well on my way with #1, 2, 3, and 5. As for 4 and 6, well maybe it's because I'm not the only one involved that I'm off to a slow start of accomplishment. But hey, 4 out of 6 ain't bad.
     I never was one for resolutions but as I get older, I find, there's always a reason to do better, to do more. And I found that if I make one big resolution, I can find little ways to make it happen. So my umbrella resolution, whether or not I maintain 1-6, is to be more mindful of the beauty around me - the beauty of God, of others and of self. Beauty is my word of reflection this year and I pray that I'll be able to be more open to finding beauty, even in the debbie downer moments. I hope and pray and that I'll be able to look at the new life after death and not focus on the death. And I pray that 2017 really becomes the beautiful year I am expecting of it.
     People often say, "New Year, New Me." But I've learned in recent years to be true to the authentic me. Of course, in order to be authentically true to myself, I need to find out who I am. And I've accomplished that - I am so self-aware these days. And besides, I like who that person is when she is authentic (note: not when I'm grumpy or not being truly me). So why, new year, new me? Instead, I'm choosing to say, "New Year, New Perspective." And that perspective will be putting on glasses that show all things as beautiful. Call them rose-colored, if you must. But for me and my year, they will show beauty. Please know of my prayers for you as you start out your new year. May you, too, find reason to see beauty instead of darkness. Peace.

 

Old Like You

"The longer I live, the more beautiful life becomes."

- Frank Lloyd Wright

      Two weekends at church, a dear older friend of my family say behind us with her two grandsons. Right before Mass, she asked my sister what the numbers were for the songs. She mentioned she didn't have her glasses. Before my sister answered her, she said, "Gee, I hope I don't get old like you." She laughed and gently smacked her shoulder. 

      Later that week I was at my Poppop's when my Mommom's sister called. My Poppop was trying to tell her that I was over for dinner but she couldn't hear him. I yelled into the phone to say hi from across the kitchen and I was met with her yelling back, "Whattttt?" I laughed a little and said, "Gee, I hope I don't get old like you." 

      Over the course of the last few weeks, I am more than sure I have said that saying more than a few times in playful jest. I'm not sure how common it is for other people to say or hear, but my dad says it all the time. He especially says it to people who are younger than him. We always laugh. We always joke. We always think it's funny. Because, well, it is. 

      In the past two weeks, however, I've been thinking about the amount of older people I am friends with. I started this deep reflection about 9 months ago. I remember hugging Sister Cathy goodbye after she dropped my sister and I off. I hugged her awkwardly through the car window and started to cry. She was shocked and looked concerned when I pulled back. I just looked at her and said, "I've lost too many people in my life. I don't want to lose you, too. So, just, don't leave me, okay?" She squeezed my hand and told me she never would. This happened a few months after my dear friend Sister Sandi passed away and a few months before I lost my Mommom and great-uncle Richard and great-Uncle Gene and a number of sisters, leading us up to the most recent death in my life, Sister Trin. I didn't know then, how hard the next few months would be, each one holding the death of someone near or dear to me. 

     Today, as I walked into the familiar Camilla, I was greeted by some of the Sisters from school. They were talking about how this was the third funeral this week. I added that I have been to a funeral or viewing once a month since January. That's when Sister responded, "You're too young for that." I said, "I guess that's what happens when you have old friends." She smiled gently and quietly acknowledged the truth behind my words. 

       I have always had older friends. I got along better with adults growing up than I did my peers. I was a mini-adult. And as much death as I've experienced in my short 24 years, I didn't really have the first realization that I would lose most of my friends while I was still young until high school. In fact, Sister David was the first one I told about this realization. She had asked me if I was afraid of death and I said no. She was surprised at my confidence, especially because she couldn't match it. She was actually afraid of dying. But it was then that I told her how I was afraid of losing my friends and those I love so much, especially the sisters. That was my Junior year. Since then, I've lost a number of people in my life. Too many to count actually. 

      That being said, I've noticed that sometimes I do things that might mimic the mannerisms of my older friends, sisters or family members. I just laugh at myself when I realize I'm doing it, too. The truth is, the phrase, "gee, I hope I don't get old like you," is really, "I already am old like you." I've been focusing on spending time with the older people in my life, quietly and gently. I make more time to stop and give a hug and a kiss. I make more time to say I love you. I'm not afraid of it anymore. It doesn't matter if it isn't reciprocated. I say it anyway. And more than anything, I take more note of things my older friends, sisters and family members do. So that I can honestly say, "Gee, I hope I DO get old like you."

       When I was sitting with my Poppop eating dinner, he mentioned that my Mommom never liked to eat the carrots in the frozen mixed veggie bag. I laughed. I never knew that. He followed by saying, "I always had to eat them because she wouldn't." I thought, yeah, I want to be old like that. Where I notice the stupid little things about my spouse or community members. Where I notice them so that when they are gone, I can tell everyone that Sister so and so didn't like carrots and I always ate her carrots, or how my husband didn't like blueberries so I would eat his out of the fruit salad at family picnics. 

       I hope I get old like my aunt who calls my Poppop every night because she can't remember if she called yesterday. At least I get to hear his voice every night, even if I can't remember the night before. I hope I get old like Sister Trin who lost count of the sculptures and paintings she made for people. I hope I get old like Sister Thomasita who lived so simply that she collected smiles from those who walked the halls in the infirmary. I hope I get old like my great aunts who are bat crazy and dance like each day is the last day at every family reunion. I hope I get old like Sister Caritas who needs a helping hand to walk places - it would give me a new chance every day to meet someone new or take a walk with an old friend. I hope I get old like Sister Sandi and Sister Lucille who never forget a birthday, anniversary or holiday. I hope I get old like the old couple I saw at Graduation this weekend who walked side by side up the aisle to Communion just so they could hold hands the whole way. I hope I get old like the couple at Mass this morning - a woman who knew every person in the room and the husband who watched happily as the love of his life once again greeted all her friends. I hope I get old like them. And I hope that when I'm old, someone writes a litany of all the things I do that they want in her life. 

       When I'm old, I'll have curly gray hair. I'll probably braid it or wear it in a bun every day. I'll probably have poor short term memory but I could spend hours telling the kids stories - whether they are my own or my numerous nieces and nephews. I'll probably have time for a daily nap, daily Mass and a daily walk. I'll probably take up knitting or something. I'll probably still cook as long as I can. I'll probably still be just as sassy. I'll probably still be cold in the middle of the summer. I'll probably still want to hike the Appalachian Trail one more time. And I'll probably be or do a lot of things. But I know for sure, I'll remember who likes carrots and who doesn't, who likes blueberries and who doesn't, and how sister so and so styles her hair because even though she took a vow of poverty, she still likes to get a perm once a month. Because I know that I want to be old like you - all my old friends. 

Kiss for the Road - an Open Letter to my Extended Family

"Families are messy. Sometimes the best we can do

is to remind each other that we're related for better and for worse....

and try to keep the maiming and the killing to a minimum."

- Rick Riordan, "Sea of Monsters"

It's not all the cousins, but it's a good amount.

Dear Family, 

All great letters start with "Dear," don't they? The word means "to, hey you read this, and I'm addressing you, so listen up." But it also means "my fondest, beloved, and cherished." In this family, both apply...listen up now, my cherished related family members. 

And so I say, to my dear family members, I've been reflecting our us as a collective whole for a while now. Maybe because the last time we were all together was a sad occasion. Maybe because I love you all too much it hurts some times. Maybe before I think I love being around all of you more than anything in the world. I'm not sure what sparked this desire to write this letter to you, but I think I need to. I think it's time I told you a lot of things. 

I have so many fond memories of us together. I have a picture of me and granddad on my desk at school from the pumpkin patch. Remember how we would all pile into the giant hay-filled trailer and travel a long way to the pumpkin patch? I vaguely remember the tradition happening all the way out near Kennett Square. I vaguely remember the giant whole-in-face scarecrow thing they had there. I'm not sure how many of the cousins got to see it because it closed or we stopped going or something happened. 

I have many fond memories of the tire swing that most of us are way too big for and that one time someone broke an elbow or a pair of glasses or something...okay, it was more than one time. I have fond memories of sledding down the farm hill and thinking it was the best thing in the world. I remember going to cut down our own Christmas trees. I remember all the parties we had for Baptisms, First Communions, Graduations and Birthdays. There was always laughter, pictures, fun times, good food and hours upon hours of conversation or play. My favorite day of the year is the family party around Christmastime. I literally look forward to that all year, more than anyone can understand. 

I love when we sit around the table telling the most hilarious stories of all the brothers and sister growing up. My maternal grandmother never can understand how me and my sisters can say one word and laugh until we're blue in the face. But I'm pretty sure I get that from my dad's side of the family because no one really knows the significance of the Mayonnaise Jar or what the heck pookie means except the brothers and sister. I'm not sure I even want to know. But what I love most about those stories is the laughter that comes from them. Whether you're laughing because you were present or you're laughing because someone else's laughter is just as funny as the story itself. I know, snorting is hilarious, and yes, I'm usually the one snorting. I also love hearing the stories of our grandparents. Like how apparently granddad never let us go when we were younger or always sugared us up before returning us back to our parents. I love the pictures we have of them and somehow it leads me to believe that they loved each other a lot.  I wish I could have known Grandmom because she sounds like the strong, faith-filled woman I can only dream of being. I wish Granddad could have been here longer -  Stewart's Root Beer and Ginger Snaps just aren't the same anymore. I wish I could know if I've made them proud. 

Above all, I love each and everyone of you. The ladies of our family are some of the strongest, most empowering, and most faith-filled women I know. Whenever I need confidence, I look to my aunts - the women who have dealt with my uncles for years, who have raised my favorite people in the world, who give so much passion to their professions, their lifestyles and their families. Each of you are unique and I sometimes like to pretend I have a bit of each of your personality in me. The men of our family have shown me what to look for in my best guy friends and/or a future husband (and.....what not to look for ;)). They have shown me how to protect one's family and provide for one's family. I have seen some of the best dads I've ever met in this family. All this being said, I've seen some great power couples, too. Life goals couples. Yes, I see how husbands make wives laugh and how they frustrate each other at times. I see them get through really tough times and enjoy the blissful moments. I want that one day whether it's with Jesus or it's with a husband. 

To my cousins, the source of my tear-filled laughter. I laugh the hardest with you. I cry the most with you. I dodge the most punches when I'm with you...and I throw the most punches when I'm with you. I hear the most harassment from you about my height, but hey, shorty still loves you. But I also hear the most words of encouragement from you. Whether you're protecting our country, our family name or my dignity, you are there for me and I always feel the safest in your presence. With no one else would I willingly ruin a pair of shoes in the mud, risk a broken limb, run faster than I've ever run, race with my younger cousins on my back, or even sit around a crowded room for hours without any contact to the outside world. You are each my hero in a unique way and I wish you could know the extent of my love for you. The truth is, I don't have the words for it. All I can say is "I love you" each time and hope you know it's true. 

We don't each other often enough. It seems we only see each other now when tears are involved - births, deaths and marriages. And it's a crying shame I don't see you more often. I truthfully long to once again all be crowded in someone's smaller house for now reason other than to eat and be merry. I truthfully long to play cops and robbers, get dirty, and be childishly silly with my cousins again. I'm guilty of being so busy that sometimes I can't breathe but I think I already know what my New Year's Resolution is going to be - the see my family more often. To make it a point to visit with my aunts and uncles and cousins. Because I love you each so much. 

I started this letter with a great quotation - families are messy. We have our own messes, our own flaws, things we know about, things we hide. I have this ideal image of our family and I know each of us carries our own burdens, our own mistakes, our own flaws and so much more. I admit that I am not perfect, I could never even think about being perfect. I know that of my own person, I have my own issues. I love too much, I get my heart broken too easily, I want to save the world. But I also get too angry, I sometimes have yelling matches with God about my life and the world, and I often feel like giving up. There's more but this letter isn't about me. But really, I get it, we all have quirks, flaws and problems. We all have some reason or another to hate on someone else at times. And yeah we have family drama. But all of that doesn't make me love you any less. In fact, I think it makes me love you more because it reminds me I'm not alone. 

The truth is, the reason I wrote this open letter is so that you would know I love you. So I could put into words the reasons why I love you. You make me the best me when I'm with you. You bring out all the things I love about myself. You actually think I'm funny when I tell jokes. You actually listen to my stories whether or not they are good stories. You pray for me. You make me smile. You let me give nice, long, snuggly hugs and you let me hold your hands. You let me laugh until I'm snorting or crying or both. You remind me that I'm loved when I'm being silly and when I'm being a little melancholy, too. You remind me, too, why I'm proud to be a part of this family and to be a Catholic. 

Thank you. Thank you for being there when I need a smile, a laugh or a reminder that I need to be the best me. Thank you for everything, for raising me into the young woman I am today. Thank you for dressing me in my baptismal dress, taking my pictures, letting me be in your weddings, trusting me enough to babysit, be a godmother, letting me run around your houses (still) and so much more. Thank you and thank God we share the same last name. I love you all. 

Sincerely, 

Your niece, daughter, grand-daughter, cousin.

P.S. Here's a KISS for the Road. 

"Just" Happy To Be Here

"The most important thing is to enjoy your life

 - to be happy -

it's all that matters."

- Audrey Hepburn

    One of the most rewarding things in this world is checking things off a to-do list. Often at work I make multiple to-do lists: people to call, things to put away, emails to send, documents to type, etc. Nothing makes me happier than crossing things off that list, unless, of course, I finally get to the end of the list and can crumple the paper to recycle it. Last week was full of to-do lists in preparation for Freshmen Retreat. At the end of retreat, I took a deep breath, sat in my chair and said, "kudos, kid. Another event under your wing."

     This week provided lots of time for reflection on retreat. Did it go well? What can we change for next year? How much of the same schedule do we keep? etc. Lots and lots of reflection on the retreat. However, those weren't the only things I found myself reflecting upon. One thing in particular was what one student said during a Q&A in the middle of the day. After we asked the students if there was anything they wanted to share with the group, one student raised her hand in the back of the auditorium and said, "I'm just happy to be here." It made me smile and I've been thinking about her comment ever since. 

     I thought about it in regards to the actual retreat. How many students would have volunteered (if only they had that option....) to go on retreat at 8:00 in the morning? Not many, I'm sure. However, they were "getting out of class" and even had free time to be with their friends after the retreat. And yes, there were probably quite a few in the group of 125 who didn't want to be there. But there was one student who was "happy to be here" and that was all I needed to hear. If I only reached one student, that's all I needed; that's all that God was calling me to that day and I was ok with that. But my reflection began to go deeper than that. 

     I thought about what would happen in my own life if I started saying that to things I attended...like meetings or school or even long car rides. What if, regardless of what I was actually feeling, I said, "I'm just happy to be here." Would it make my disposition concerning the event better? Would I be more able to "grin and bear it" for things that I might not really want to attend? Would it be even more transformative and make me actually be able to say, "I am EXCITED for this meeting?" Hmm...maybe not as drastic as that, but maybe, just maybe it would allow me to be more positive about the experiences. 

     As I continued to think about what that one student said, I thought, hmm...what if when I woke up, instead of yelling at the alarm clock or hitting the snooze button, I opened my eyes and said, "You know, I'm just happy to be here." Of course, that's not difficult at the end of the day...getting in bed and saying, "OH I AM SO HAPPY TO BE HERE." In fact, all the words might not make it out of my mouth before my head hit the pillow and I fell asleep. But if I woke up like that, would my day be better? In order to be able to say that would I have to have a scene straight out of Cinderella or Snow White with the singing birds and the happy sunshine and the singing and the music and the unrealistic morning happiness? Or am I actually able to wake up (maybe after hitting snooze a few times) and say, "I am just happy to be here....happy to be alive." 

    I remember a few years ago making a conscious effort to wake up and express gratitude for another day alive. I do often say, especially on my worst days, "Well...it's a good day because I'm alive another day." I used to reflect so deeply on those first conscious breaths of the morning. How much does God love me that He, yet again, gave me the air in my lungs and another day of life?! But for some reason or another, I stopped with that conscious effort. Perhaps it was because it became too much a part of my routine, I got too busy, I don't know. But it suddenly was brought back to my mind with this one student's comment. 

    My reflection continued as I gave myself a deep look in the mirror the other morning. Usually is almost dark in my room when I get up, but the other day I was blessed to wake up after the sun. This made my room a bit brighter and so I was able to read a message I had written on the mirror way back in high school. It read, "Bec, have you talked to God yet?" I remember someone seeing it years ago and commenting on how funny it sounded. It was as if I needed to set up an appointment with God and hadn't contacted Him yet. But really I had written it as a daily reminder that I need to talk with God every day. I can't just go about my day treating Him like a secretary and asking Him for favors every time I need something. I probably wouldn't have caught the phrase on my mirror if it hadn't been for that one student's comment. 

      So today, I'm sitting here thinking, "Am I happy to be here yet?" It's Friday. Of course I'm happy to be here. But there was something different about my morning. I might chalk it up to having fresh coffee this morning, but I think, honestly, it was because the first thing I said this morning was "Five more minutes....I'm happy to be here today." I felt like I was bouncing into school today. I felt on top of the world today. I felt like I go about my day wishing everyone a VERY HAPPY FRIDAY. So...I have been. I'm happy to be here today. I'm happy to be at work. I'm happy to be with my co-workers. I'm happy to be on this earth. I'm happy that God blessed me with another day of life and breath. God is so good. 

    So maybe tomorrow when you wake up you can say, "I'm just happy to be here." Or maybe right now, think about if you are happy to be here wherever here may be for you. Maybe it might change your Debbie Downer mood to a slightly happier one....maybe just maybe. So try it out...maybe every day can be the best day of your life.

    

Run So As To Win

"Therefore, I run in such a way, as not without aim;

I box in such a way, as not beating the air.

but I discipline my body and make it my slave, 

so that, after I have preached to others, 

I myself will not be disqualified."

- 1 Corinthians 9:26-27

    

    As many of you know, recently I started a new endeavor in my life: working as a Campus Minister at a local high school. It has been a whirlwind of adventures from planning Community Service events, to meeting with students, faculty and administration alike, to ordering various this for the school to especially planning our first BIG official Liturgy...that was today. 

     For the past week, I've been reading through various Scripture readings, asking for volunteers to help at Mass, picking and then practicing music with the Liturgy Singers, and so much more. It seemed that every time I thought I was finished planning, something else would come up. You know how it is, every time you sit down to catch your breath, you're off and running again. Well, finally sometime earlier this week, I found I was ready to go for today. That's when I sat down to write my before Mass reflection. 

     The Scripture readings for today were excellent. I did not even hesitate to use different readings other than the ones set for the day. The first reading was St. Paul's letter to the Corinthians which I have quoted above. It has been one of my most favorite Scripture passages for a very long time and last year, when I was asked to think about a theme for the beginning of a school year for my students for an Education class, I immediately resorted to that passage. I had dreams of my students reflecting often on the needs for preparing oneself to run in a race. I had dreams of running with them hypothetically. I had dreams of even wearing sneakers on the first day of class just to say, "We are now running to win." I may have even dreamed of my students eventually nicknaming me coach. I know, I was dreaming big. Yet, God, as He is so amazing, answered another one of my prayers - He allowed my dreams to come true. 

     This morning I stood before the entire student body, the entire faculty, staff and administration as well as some parents who were present for the Student Council Induction. Little me in front of hundreds of people of all ages. But was I nervous? No, actually. I remembered what Sister Cathy had said to me about this time last year: It's okay to be nervous, to have butterflies, so long as all the butterflies are in the right place. So, after sharing that with a few of those who were assisting in the Mass, I got up behind the Lectern and began. Here is my reflection:

     "During my first week at Mount St. Joseph Academy, I heard some hustling and bustling in the hallway. It was still summertime and so, I was confused as to who might be making all the noise. As I walked out of my office, I found an entire team of girls laying on the hallway floor doing some type of exercise. After introducing myself and inquiring about which team was lying before me, I enlightened the team on my recent endeavor to get in shape by running. It was then that the Cross Country team invited me to run with them. I couldn’t help but think that their invitation was the most perfect way for me to start off the new year.

     Today we hear in Paul’s letter to the Corinthians to “run so as to win.” St. Paul invites us, just as the cross country team invited me, to drive and train our bodies, our spiritual, emotional and physical bodies, so that in the end we may achieve the greatness that is Heaven. We must train our brains so as to achieve in the classroom, train our bodies to achieve on the field or court, train our voices to achieve on the stage, train our brush strokes to achieve on the canvas. We must train our spirits by prayer to achieve holiness. St Paul also cautions against running aimlessly; we must run with purpose, with drive. We cannot run if we do have a destination. May your destination be Heaven. Of course, a final aspect is that we must run together as a team, striving to be instruments of unity and reconciliation.

     Students, Faculty and Administration alike, I encourage you to take up the invitation from the Cross Country team. Set your hearts, minds and souls on Jesus and run; run so as to win."

      As I spoke, I could sincerely feel the Holy Spirit within and around me. Oh how beautiful a feeling. I walked to the back of the auditorium and felt the eyes of many students and teachers upon me. I was greeted in the back by the President who graciously gave me a thumbs up. I thanked God and let the rest of the Mass take place. I thought I wasn't in for any surprises, but alas, God always has something up His sleeve.

      When it came time for the Homily, Father asked the entire Cross Country team to stand up. I started laughing. The girls hesitated at first but eventually, girls all over the auditorium stood up. Father than asked the captain of the team to join him on the apron of the auditorium. She, again, hesitated, but went. Father asked her a few questions about what it took to train and practice for Cross Country. He then asked her why she invited me to run with the team. She answered by saying that I was new and they wanted to welcome me. Of course, Father then asked if I had been out to practice with them. When she said no, I had to laugh. It was true. You can bet your bottom dollar that the next thing I will be doing after I finish this post is emailing the coach and asking for a practice schedule! I need to go at least once with them! 

       Our Liturgy went beautifully and throughout the day I have been congratulated on a beautiful first Liturgy. I am so grateful for the amazing faculty, staff and administration who has continued to support me since day one. I am so grateful for my students who have been nothing but helpful. Oh how amazing they are. And of course, how grateful I am to my God for giving me my dream come true: standing before my students, my colleagues, and my students' parents asking them to run with me and with Jesus. It is truly amazing that I got to preach my desire to run for God's Cross Country team. 

      I will keep running so as to win, to attain holiness. Of course, I might also be caught running with the Cross Country team. So, if you happen to see me after school one day with my sneakers on underneath my skirt, don't judge. I've just been running with my students. 

Say Something

"Those who trust God the most, 

wait the longest. God trusts that we trust Him."

- Becca Original

     Did you ever feel like you've done all the talking in a relationship? Did it ever feel like your significant other or the person you've been dating or even your best friend never says a word? Maybe you've been the extroverted one the entire time? Or maybe you were so bothered by silence? I used to be that person, but in the past few years, I've quieted. I am able to sit in silence for long periods of time and be happy. When I'm with someone, I like to let them do the talking. But sometimes, when I'm with God, I feel like the picture above. I'm waiting, in my piece of paradise, for God to take a seat and talk to me. I'm waiting for Him to say something. 

     Recently, I've been feeling like I've been pretending with God. You know, I haven't been honest. If He asks if I'm happy, I say, "Yes, yes, of course I'm happy." But He simply nods His head and doesn't say anything. It's as if He's saying, "Okay, if you say so. But something tells me you're not." Saturday, I decided to be honest with God at Mass. I told Him how anxious I've been waiting to hear if I have a job for the Fall or not. I told Him how I just didn't know where to go from hear, that I felt stuck in some transition that isn't going right. I told Him that I feel alone; that His presence hasn't been made known to me in a while. I was begging Him to say something to me, because recently, I feel like He's just been silent. 

     Every Saturday after the daily Mass at my Parish, we pray the Novena to the Miraculous Medal. Because I've been going to daily Saturday Mass for so long, I've long had those prayers memorized. So, while we knelt down to say the prayers as a congregation, I bowed my head. Suddenly, for no reason that I can actually explain, I started crying. And it wasn't just baby tears sliding down my cheeks, I was close to full out sobbing. I couldn't explain it then and I can't explain it now. I just started crying. When we finished praying the Novena, I tried to book it out of the Chapel as fast as I could. My crying must have been my show of complete vulnerability to God, begging Him to listen to my cry. 

     Saturday went on as normal. My family went to a family party and I hit the hay early that night; I was exhausted. But before I fell asleep, I started leafing through a book by Christopher West concerning Theology of the Body and Song of Songs in the Bible. Two of my favorite things. I didn't get very far before I fell asleep. Yesterday, Sunday, I got up early and went to 7:30 Mass with my family. When I got home, I laid down because I had a wicked headache. When I woke up, however, the Christopher West book was peaking out from under my pillow. Apparently the night before, I feel asleep reading it and never moved it from my bed. So, I started leafing through it again and decided that it would be a great book to give to Joe, who I was seeing later that day. I through the book in my bag and sat back on my bed. Then, the teacher in me came out and thought that in order for him to understand the book, he needs to do the prerequisite reading of Song of Songs. So, I pulled out my Bible. as I was adding it to the bag of books, I decided that maybe I should revisit my favorite book of the Bible myself before making someone else do it. So, I sat there and opened to the book Song of Songs. 

      I was thinking, as I was reading, once again, how beautiful this particular book of the Bible is. I could go on and on about Theology of the Body and how beautiful John Paul II's teachings are, but that's not the point today. I was reading and praying and hoping that God would send a message to me through the readings of Song of Songs. The only thing that had stood out was that somewhere along the line of me reading my Bible, I had highlighted a phrase that reoccurs three times: "Do not arouse, do not stir up love before it's own time." I didn't realize until that moment that the phrase is repeated three times. When I finished reading the book, however, I didn't feel anything strongly in the Bible and felt disappointed. It was a nice read, I guess, revisiting the love story in the Bible, but that's not what I felt I needed. 

      So, I flipped to Hosea, another favorite in the Bible. I was honestly just browsing when I came to a particular indented verse. This verse, Hosea 3:2, hit me like a ton of bricks and an eighteen wheeler. It reads, "Many days you will wait for me; you will not play the harlot or belong to any man. I in turn will wait for you." Boom. Hello. Instant tears. What on earth was going on with me?! I sat there for a few minutes allowing the verse to hit me a hundred times more before I began to mentally reflect. 

     I had just read Song of Songs, the love letter in the Bible. Scripture scholars will tell you that SOS falls right in the middle of the Bible between Genesis and Revelation. It is literally written as a love letter between a bride and a groom about how beautiful the other is. It's absolutely lovely and will make any hopeless romantic's heart throb. However, the letter is also a love letter between God of heaven and the people of earth. I always read it as a true love letter from God to me personally. Hmmm...imagine, God is absolutely in love with me, head over heels in love with me. He thinks I am absolutely beautiful and gorgeous and He loves me. When I read it this time, however, I didn't read it necessarily that way. 

     Hosea is the story of the man who loves his wife so much that despite the fact that she becomes a harlot and has multiple relationships with other men, he welcomes her back. He loves her so much that he will adore her and love her and forgive her. He takes the honeymoon phase of Song of Songs and puts true marriage into action years later into his marriage with the woman. He loves her despite her faults. That's how I read Hosea and Song of Songs. 

      Anyone who knows me knows that I have been seemingly waiting for years to finally enter religious life. I feel like I am always playing the waiting game with God. Not yet, not yet, not yet. Yet, I know that's what He wants of me. And at times, I get anxious and feel like giving up. Do I really have to wait this long? I'm tired of waiting. BUT, Hosea said, "many days you will wait for me...." Song of Songs said, "do not arouse, do not stir up love before it's own time." Yes, I guess I must continue waiting for the Lord to say the word. He assured me, however, through Song of Songs, that He truly does love me. He also assured me that as much as I wait for Him, He will also wait for me. He loves me and no matter what I may do wrong, He will always forgive me. He will always love me. 

     And so, I resolved to understand that God is saying something. He is saying, wait, wait, wait. I may roll my eyes and ask for more and swear that He is not saying anything at all, but He is gently whispering for me to wait. Doesn't mean I like it, and He knows that (we can be honest with each other that way, it's nice), but I must wait. Of course, I'm still sitting hear anxious because I hate waiting. I want to know my future, I want to know when I must make a decision, when I must finally say YES GOD. But right now, as much as I don't like it, I am saying Yes God, to waiting for the right time and place. I must not arouse or stir up love before it's own time. I'm still in a period of "Okay God....say something please to keep me going" so prayers are always accepted. Especially these days ahead. Thank you.

Give Thanks

"If you only had today, what you thanked God for yesterday....

what would you have?"

- Anonymous

    Well, I'd certainly have my little sisters. Even though last night we were playfully bickering over pajama pants, blankets and hair dye, I thanked God for them. You see, every time I come home, my sisters and I pull out our true Gutherman. To be a true Gutherman, one must be able to stand up for oneself, take a punch, throw a punch, use words wisely, be able to run for your life or after someone else's life, and never forget to say I love you. Oh yeah, and eat like the stomach is a bottomless pit. And so, being home, my little sisters and I engage in various activities like chasing each other around the house, dying hair, eating lots of food (I have right reason...I'm at college, folks) and snuggling while watching movies and complaining about who is touching who with their feet. Yep, we are true siblings.

    Today, for the first time in a very long time, I went back to my Parish for Mass. It was just myself and Mary, my middle sister, so while she went up to the altar to cantor, I sat in a little pew, more than half way back by myself. I closed my eyes, and quite honestly started to fall asleep. For a few minutes, my mind and heart floated between slumber and prayer. It wasn't until two little giggly girls ran up the aisle and sat on my lap, did I wake up. These little ones, Megan and Caleigh, have been in my life for a long, long time. Every time we happen to be at Mass together, they come and sit with me. They snuggle up under my arms and sing, read and pray with me. It's precious! And so, like usual, after they jumped on me, they snuggled up. A few minutes later, my littlest sister popped into the pew, too. There I was, me and my three little girls squished in a pew, each with a book. 

    My favorite part of going home aside from seeing all the members of my beloved Parish family, is sitting with all the children. In the middle of Mass, I saw one of the Parish moms look back and simply smile. This is a very typical moment every Sunday I am home: Becca and the little ones. The best part about this is how innocently we all sing together. Being so young, they have no sense of keys or harmonies, as I have after so many years of singing, but it is still perfect. Their voices are so clear and innocent. I love it. In addition to the little ones surrounding me with song, I could hear Mary singing from the altar beautifully. So, even though I couldn't be with her up there, I harmonized with her from my pew.

     After Mass, another Parishioner came up to me and said, "I love to hear you and all the kiddies singing. When you're home, do you sing with your sisters all the time?" I laughed and honestly admitted that usually we are yelling and screaming at each other (because none of us can communicate in a normal tone of voice) and the house is usually filled with laughter. Quite a few times, I heard how blessed people were to have me back home. I collected smiles and laughs and good words in my heart from my Parish family. I couldn't help but thank God for the blessing they instantly became for me. 

    I am so thankful and grateful this Thanksgiving for my family, for good food and for love. But in particular, I am thankful for my Parish family, especially Megan and Caleigh, who continuously bring me toward God. They don't know it, and probably wouldn't understand it, but they brought me such hope, such happiness today. With their innocent smiles and laughter during Mass, and precious prayers, yes, they brought me hope and they brought me home this Thanksgiving. And of course, I'm so thankful for my very Gutherman sisters who can always bring me laughter and tears no matter what the day. I love them and I know I am so blessed. 

    And so, if tomorrow I wake up with all that I thanked God for today, I'd have my sisters, my family, and my Parish family. And even though, I didn't thank God for all of the material goods I have like a bed, heat, running water and food, I'd survive. Because if I thanked God for the material goods but not the people that mean the most to me, I'd still have nothing. But with them, I have everything. I could live without comfort, food and water, but not without my family. It's a reminder to me that yes, those are "added pluses" to my life, "extra blessings" and I thank God for them, but only after I thank Him for the most important people in my life. Thanks God, for all those people. And of course, for the added blessings You have given me!

Counting The Tears

"Don't ever discount the wonder of your tears. 

They can be healing waters and a stream of joy.

Sometimes they are the best words a heart can speak."

- W. Paul Young, The Shack

     "You have a history with 'Mikes'," she said to me. "Yeah, I guess I do," I answered wiping snot and tears off my face. I had been curled up in a ball on the last seat in the last row of chairs in Chapel when she walked in. I was literally sitting in the fetal position, with my head down, sobbing. Not even five minutes before another sister had walked through the "magic door" and found me there. She gently came over, stood beside me, with her hand on my shoulder and said, "Cry, just let it out. I'll pray. You cry." Five minutes later, my dear sister walked in and found me. I hate, hate, hate crying in front of people, especially people whose idea of me is the "tough as nails" girl. Yet, I just continued to sob as these two sisters walked in and sat with me. It was the type of crying where you can't really breathe right, or even talk higher than a whisper, because  the tears are just continually running down your face. It was the type of cry, where I just wanted to fall into someone's lap and stay there, protected from the horrible news I just heard. As I sit here to write this, I sob again, mourning not only a friend, or a fellow parishioner, but rather, someone who was like another father to me my whole life. 

     He was a sarcastic man, with a brutal sense of humor. You had to learn to understand him. He was a rough and tumble type of man, like mot people from Croydon. He never took any crap from anyone. He came off as mean and bitter and wicked, but we all knew that was just Mike. Inside, he cared more about you than he often let on. I know this for a fact because he always told me that if anyone tried to hurt me, he'd have to use a lot of self-restraint not to kill them. Truth is, he probably would. He wasn't afraid to tell people how he felt, or what he thought, even if he was wrong. It often seemed as if he was made of cast-iron and maybe some brick, too. Yet (and he'd kill me for saying this but it's true...), he was marshmallow soft instead. How do I know? He told me my voice was good enough to make a grown man cry, tears of awe. And after he said that, he told me if anyone but me sang at his funeral, he'd jump right out of his casket and raise hell. These are all direct quotations, I promise. He made me promise with my whole heart that I would do all I could to make sure I sang at his funeral. I never thought I'd have to do it from my pew so soon. 

     Most people don't get the close-knit network my Parish has. It literally is like I have so many fathers, so many mothers and so many brothers and sisters. The sign of peace takes forever, because we HAVE to say hello  to everyone. The saying, "It takes a whole community to raise a child" definitely applies to EVERY SINGLE KID that grew up in Croydon. We are all so close with one another and so right now, we're all mourning with one another. I can't tell you how many Facebook messages and texts I've gotten from my parish family members, all of us in tears, just sobbing over the phone or the internet. Losing Mr. Frat, is losing a part of my family, losing a part of myself. People shake their heads at how upset I get when something happens to my parish, but they just don't understand. This is family. This is what sustains me in prayer and love and faith and humor. And the hardest part about being away from all of them right now, is that I have to cry alone physically. I know spiritually and emotionally, they are all carrying this sorrow with me. But it's hard. I just wish I could be home. 

      This is a lesson in trust, I know. I have to trust God on this. And I also think this is God telling me, I'm getting soft in my old age. I mean, I seriously just told the whole world I'm sobbing and mourning. I've got to really trust God in this situation. I've got to trust that He knows what He is doing. And I've got to trust that He'll send me someone here with big open arms, willing to get their shoulders soaked, and hold me in a long hug while I try to count my tears. 

       Thanks all for the prayers and support. I know the family really appreciates it.