The Blessed Gift of Spouse

"At home in bed a few weeks before he died, I asked him, 

'Can you breathe okay with my head on your chest like this?'

He answered, 'It's the only way I know how to breathe.'"

- "When Breath Becomes Air," Paul Kalanithi

    I've been debating whether or not to keep this blog, since it's original purpose seemingly doesn't exist. However, after obvious months of quiet and yes, contemplation, I was inspired yesterday to keep writing. It is, still, a road less traveled: two young people, married and Catholic who have lived their lives and continue to do so according to Catholic faith and practice. On September 8, Mary's birthday, we will be married for nine months. In those nine months, I've learned more than I ever thought possible. I've laughed more than I ever have, and yes, I've cried, too, but that's because tears are a good thing and I cry when I'm really happy. 

     A few weeks ago, one of the Sisters I am close with said to me, "You're so happy; I love talking to you and hearing about your life. I think that's what happens when you marry your best friend." Ten years ago, I had a different plan in my mind. I always say now, God had me on that path so I wouldn't end up with the wrong man. Joe and were friends for a while and I even knew his parents well before we started dating. I thought then, during our friendship, that his support was immense and wonderful. But I had no idea he would become all the more supportive when we got married. 

     The thing is, when I teach my Vocations and Human Sexuality class to my seniors, the girls always ask questions like, "Wouldn't you want to live together to know if you could live together before you were married?" "Don't you want to know everything you can about each other before you get married?" and "How will you know how each other functions before you get married?" We didn't live together until December 9 around 12:30AM after I drove there in a wedding dress. And we have survived nine months together. I didn't know some things about him and there are certainly things he didn't know about me. Over the past few weeks, I have been reflecting on this, truly counting my blessings. 

      This morning, I forgot to change the toilet paper roll and there wasn't anything left on the roll. I made a mental note to replace it after I finished making breakfast, hopefully before Joe woke up. I forgot and later, long after he had left for work, I realized he had replaced the empty roll with a new one. Every night when I make dinner, I am usually a disaster in keeping the area clean. I pile dishes in the sink, there's almost always onion skin on the floor and I most definitely am always splashing sauce or gravy or marinade somewhere. I like to think it's my creative side showing, but I know it's just because I'm messy. After dinner, without complaint, he washes the dishes and fills the dish washer. He's really good at folding laundry, not so good at sorting it, so we split it. And every night, before bed, he fills a glass with water for me just in case I get thirsty in the middle of the night. 

     It's all these things that make me grateful for him, because he doesn't complain about sharing the duties or taking care of me. But remembering these things leads me to deeper reflection: I need him. I could survive on my own, yes. But his companionship completes me. I have realized over the past few weeks (and I realize this may be an audacious thing for a newly wed to say) why God gives us spouses. There are trials and tribulations that happen throughout life that we cannot plow through alone. Yes, we have friends and family who can be there to help us through, but our spouse is obligated to be there through good times and bad. I didn't marry Joe with the intent of keeping him around to be my support, but he has been that for me. Some days are filled with ups and downs and at the end of the day, my favorite place to be is in his arms. His arms are the strong walls of my home and in them, I feel the safest and most secure. When I'm not with him, despite whether I am currently happy, I miss him; I wish he was with me experiencing my joys, too. 

     God gives us spouses as companions, as friends, as confidantes, as people to share in our joys or our sorrows. I think what is most important is that Joe is my spouse and he's only for me and vice versa; I am only for him. How special and unique and amazing it is to think about that: God designed someone else to be my perfectly fitting puzzle piece. While God was creating me with all my personality, my quirks and my nooks and crannies, He was also creating Joe to perfectly compliment that for me. (Or maybe it's the other way around, since Joe is a few months older). It's fascinating, mind-boggling and not easy to fully grasp. We are only for each other because we were made that way. And I am so grateful for that gift. 

      The gift of my spouse is one that I have truly considered deeply in these last few days before school starts up again, mostly because I have had the time but also the inspiration. I've had many questions for God and our conversations have reached great depth. His answer to me over and over his been, "Trust my time. You need this trial to become stronger together. Keep strengthening your marriage." And so we have. Simply by being together and even at times, doing nothing together, we have been made stronger. Through consistent prayer and going to Mass together, our relationship with God, both individually and as a couple, has made us stronger. By seeing each other vulnerable and emotional, as well as over joyed and ecstatic, we have been made stronger. And without the other, we certainly couldn't be where we are today. God has blessed us through every up and down and I'm grateful for my spouse, the one who loves me beyond understanding, in good times and in bad. 

I AM WOMAN

"I am no bird; and no net ensnares me.

I am a free human being with an independent will."

- Charlotte Bronte, "Jane Eyre"

       I had a teacher in college that whenever talking about feminism, he would always say, "I AM WOMAN," in a deep voice, proclaiming in his own way, the strength of the woman. I would always laugh and think, well real ladies would never use a deep manly voice. She would use her dainty, lady voice and say, "Well yes, sir, I do appear to be a bit stronger than you." Today, on my adventure with my best friend, I could not stop thinking about Mr. Mooney saying, "I AM WOMAN." In fact, I may have even said it a few times myself. If there's anything that feels mighty liberating as a woman, it's being able to lift two kayaks out of the water and into a truck that I just backed down the ramp. Say what? Yes, I did that.

     I've been reading a book titled, "Rose Under Fire." This book is a companion book to another book I just finished, "Code Name Verity." Both are written by Elizabeth Wein and both are historical fiction. Now, a little bit of a back story for you before I continue. As a kid, I always loved reading historical fiction books, especially books that showcased young women as the main character. I don't know if you ever heard of the Dear America series, but I thrived on those. Each were a diary form book written by a young girl during a historical time period. Now, flash forward to present day me searching in the book store for a casual Young Adult Literature book to read on vacation. As Sister Marcille taught me, I went after the book that had the Printz Award label on the front. Turns out, it was a historical fiction book. I knew I would love it, so I bought the companion book, too. I just started the second book Thursday...I'm almost done. 

     When I first picked up the books, I thought, oh good, another historical fiction during the WWII time era; one I personally love studying. As I got started, however, I realized I was reading about quite a few hipster ladies. By that, I mean, young women who were breaking stereotypes left and right by doing amazing things. One was a Special Orders Pilot...imagine, a woman pilot, especially during that time period. Of course, her best friend was a spy and interrogator. I fell in love with the characters who not only stayed true to the characterization of women at the time, but also were insanely feminist and willing to go above and beyond what women normally did. The second book also features a female pilot and describes at length the women concentration camp that still to this day doesn't have too much written about it. It describes in insane detail the strength of thousands of women. I felt as if these women were my comrades, my fellow strong women. Of course, there was one scene that struck me in particular that I felt extremely connected with. 

     The scene takes place toward the beginning of the story when Rose, the female pilot, gets trapped between two German fighter planes. She eventually is requested to follow the fighter planes to a German airfield; she has become a POW in the air. When she lands the plane and is asked to remove herself from the aircraft, she steps out of the pilots seat, but still has her helmet on. They order her to take her helmet off and a stream of curly brown hair falls out from underneath. The men's mouths gape open and suddenly they are saluting her and clapping for her; she fielded an excellent landing. Of course, there is much irony in this scene. The young woman, first of all is a POW and an American one at that. These mean saluting her were German airmen. At first I thought, well good for her to get such a response to landing that plane. But then I thought, if it had been a man pilot, they wouldn't have done that. What made her landing so special other than the fact that she was a woman pilot?! Nothing. As absurd as it was, the scene struck accord with me.

      You see, so often I am mistaken for a weak person. People always offer to help me carry things and stuff like that. Sometimes I think it's because I am little; a whopping five foot. But other times, I think it's probably because I am a woman. Today, like I said before, my best friend and I went kayaking in the river. Imagine the scene: two young women riding high in a Ford pick-up truck with two kayaks in the bed. First of all, a little lady is driving the truck. Second of all, she's going to have to get those kayaks out of the back of the truck. As I pulled into the parking lot, I could already see the crowd of men staring at me. Yes, boys, I had just hopped out of the cab of this truck. Now, look away. I knew they were anxiously waiting to see how I would approach getting the kayaks out of the bed of the truck. Shocking to admit, but I did it with no problem. Of course, my best friend was there to get her kayak out of the bed of the truck, too. What a sight to behold, two ladies carrying kayaks down the river. 

     I started to laugh at the absurdity. I really didn't think it was that big of a deal that we had just done that. However, the end of the craziness was no where in sight. As we were pulling the kayaks down the river to put in a bit further away from all the mud, an older gentleman stopped us. He asked if I had ever put in there before. I answered yes. He then told me that I should be careful because the tide was changing soon. Shocking, but I knew this to be true. Of course, he mentioned a few more river facts, all of which I knew. And as I nodded my head, he seemed to get more and more shocked. I wasn't sure why actually, but later it hit me. I'm a lady. He was a kind man, but he definitely thought we had no idea what we were doing. I thanked him for his conversation and we were on our merry way. 

     We enjoyed a paddle down stream and soon decided to head back. There were a lot of boats and jetskis out enjoying the Summer's last hoorah and so we often had to stop and change direction so we didn't tip. As we headed back, the river current got rougher and rougher and it was getting harder and harder to paddle back. Going against the current is the worst BUT it does build muscle mass. It was difficult but we continued. Suddenly, Mary Kate noticed some "fog" up ahead. Ironically, however, it wasn't fog, it was a downpour. We paddled for cover (because the last thing you want is a kayak filled with rain water) and took refuge under some kind peoples' dock. We made a video and then decided to head back out. We were only about half a mile away from where we put in. 

     The rain ceased as we paddled and the river current was much calmer, thus, easier for us to paddle. The boat ramp was in sight and the tide was coming in, so there would be much less mud to plow through. Of course, as we neared the boat ramp, another downpour. We laughed and this time, kept going. We were so close. We decided to take pictures, too, when we landed, because it was, after all, a monumental moment. There was one guy fishing who was enjoying the moment by laughing at us, but that soon changed when we hauled the kayaks up the ramp a bit. You see, it appeared that I was going to leave them there. But that was not the case. 

     I ran, still in the rain, to the truck, hopped up in the cab and reversed so I could turn around. Then I backed the truck down the ramp so that the two of use could swing the kayaks in the back and head home. We actually gained the attention of many as we did this quickly and efficiently. I smiled and laughed. As we drove home, I said, "Nothing is more liberating to me than being able to do things that people think women can't do...like handle her own kayak and drive a truck." My best friend just laughed.

     I am a feminist and often, I find it hilarious that women are always underestimated. Yes, I believe that there is such a feministic beauty in being genuine, caring, motherly, gentle. Those are the characteristics that make me a woman. But what also makes me a woman is my strength, both emotional and physical. To put things in perspective...my kayak weighs about 60 pounds. That's about the size of a toddler. Both of these facts enhances my feminism. As a woman, I may be expected to take care of children, babies and toddlers. I may be expected to pick them up and coo over them. Don't get me wrong, I loooooooove doing that. I love children and child-rearing is an amazing beauty all in it's own. But, if my toddler weighs 60 pounds, then why, when I pick up a kayak weighing about the same, is it a shock to everyone around. People, get a grip, I want to say. I don't, of course, because I'm a lady. I simply smile and behind my smile, I say, "Now, let me see you do that."

     I felt proud to be a lady today. Every day, I proud to be a woman, but today I felt especially proud. It wasn't that I already knew the things that our older man friend was telling us about the river. No, it wasn't because my Daddy had already taught me these things. And it wasn't that I got to drive Daddy's truck either (seriously...I NEED one of my own though). I learned to drive in that monster, so that was just taking the truck for a spin. And it actually wasn't the fact that my best friend and I paddled against the current in the pouring rain. That was just fun. What made me super proud was that all those strong men who were shocked when a lady hopped out of the cab of a pick-up truck and watched me as I lifted the kayaks out of the bed with ease, didn't offer an ounce of help. Now while that might make a few people upset (how dare they not help a damsel in distress), I enjoyed it. Why? Because they watched, they were shocked and they didn't offer help, because they knew I could do it. 

     I'm not always a radical feminist, but when I am, I lift kayaks out of trucks and paddle against the current in the pouring rain. Now I can't wait to see people's reactions when I do that as a nun. In the words of Mr. Mooney, "I AM WOMAN."

Sometimes the Road Gets A Little Rocky

"Just because you are in a tough situation, 

doesn't mean it has to be tragic.

You are in control of how terrible your situation feels."

- Sister Marcille

    You may or may not have seen the Facebook status that read : The phrase that sums up my week "let's just find a rock big enough for both of us to hide under and call it a day." Yes, I said that. But it was in casual response to something I never would have expected to hear from one of my Sisters: "I want to hide under a rock." Of course, this was as we were attempting to lift the giant, ancient window in her office and after I almost cried in her presence for the third time in a row that week. It was only Wednesday. However, it didn't quite shock me like it probably would have had I been not in a crabby mood. In fact, it was almost comforting; someone else was feeling almost the same attitude. Okay, well, maybe we both wanted to hide away from the world for different reasons, but the point is, we both wanted to hide under rocks. I was tired of crying and she was tired of meetings. But that's life, I guess. 

    Many of you know me as the girl with the perpetual smile. The truth is, I have found ways to always keep positive and to smile through anything that is upsetting me. However, this doesn't mean that I don't have days where I am just in a complete Debbie Downer mood. On these days, I usually avoid all kinds of civilization and stick to myself. So essentially, I am always in a smilely mood because most people only see me when I have tons of smiles to give. Of course, duty calls and one must go to work and to class even on days when she might rather just stay wrapped up in her blankets in her bed. Last week, I was seemingly in a perpetual Debbie Downer mood and while, I tried to avoid people so as not to have my bad mood rub off, I still had to come in contact with a few people. 

    So here's the background. It's the final two weeks of school. That means, finals, finals, finals. Of course, as an English Major I am so blessed to be given papers in lieu of finals. However, I'm also half an Education Major and so, my finals consist of teaching lessons to my class. As of now, I have one paper to worry about, four discussion boards to finish, a lesson plan to do and a Theology final. Almost done. However, at the beginning of last week, the workload was definitely doubled and I had no desire to do any of it. I was wishing I could be back at home with my little sister who has seemingly been putting up a daily fight to go to school. 

    As the oldest sister, I am always worried about my little sisters and this new knowledge of little Lizzie was worrying my heart out. I actually wanted to just scoop her up in my arms and snuggle her "all the day" (as she always says). I wanted to protect her, love her and squeeze her close. Having to go back to school was the hardest thing, especially with only two weeks of school left for me. Needless the say, I spent Sunday night almost sobbing because I was so worried about her. But, that same night, from one big sister to another, my Sister gave me endearing words of support and a hug to get me through the night. As much as that helped, I still wanted to hide under a rock and when I saw her two days later, she was feeling the same sentiment. 

    It seemed that as the days went by last week, I felt more and more worry in my heart for my little sister....and for my upcoming finals. I am grateful for those who let my introvertedness be fully expressed, namely my Sister. She wouldn't really say much, except ask a few questions, already knowing the full situation my heart was in, and give me something to smile about or to take my mind off of things for a while. She had become so gentle with my heart as if she was holding in her hands the must expensive and most fragile piece of China porcelain. She was honest, she was true, she was gentle; so, so, so gentle. It humbled me but it also let me embrace the emotions going on in my heart. By Wednesday, after mid-day Mass, I found myself wiping salt water off my cheeks as I prayed and prayed and prayer. And in that prayer I was given the image of that rock we had both wanted to hide under. Ironically, I was also given a choice. 

    There are plenty of days when we each want to hide under a rock. Last week, was my week of days of wanting to run and hide under rocks. Even in class, another Sister told me that I looked as quite miserable, even after she presented me with an A on my final paper. Anyway, for some people, their rocks could be their beds or their rooms where they hide away from the world, or maybe a secret place they go to on their own, like the beach or the park or a specific bench by the river. We all want to hide, because like Adam and Eve, we don't like to feel vulnerable; wanting to hide is part of human nature. However, just like Adam and Eve, we are given a choice. God will provide us with the rock when we need it, but we can choose to do one of two things with it: lift it and hide under it OR stand on top of it, throw our hands up in the air and let God take care of it. At that moment in Chapel, when I was presented with this image and this decision, I had realized that I wasn't wanting to hide under the rock; I was already under it. 

      I was given the choice right then in Chapel to either stay under that rock or climb out from underneath and stand on top. I still wanted to hide under my rock, I still was searching for a chance to sob about my life, I was still searching for a lasting hug. I mentioned all of this in prayer and was told, you can cry to Me, My Arms are wide open to hug you, My princess. So, slowly, I began to climb out. I cried because I knew I couldn't control anything that was happening in my life because losing control is so scary. However, I soon learned that losing control was also so freeing. The true climb out from underneath my rock began early Thursday morning when I realized that the lesson plan for the lesson I was supposed to teach my Honors Juniors class was not in my bag, but at home in my room at school. Oops. I had no control over the situation and so, I said, "Jesus take the wheel." 

     Later that day, I unpinned the bobby pins in my hair and let my curls go crazy as I rolled down the window in Cameron's car. Seriously, my curls, when UNCONTROLLED, are actually crazy crazy crazy. It may not mean much to anyone else, but to me, letting go of the little things I could usually control really helped with the letting go of things I couldn't control. Before I knew it, I was standing on top of my rock, throwing my hands in the air, proclaiming that God was wholly in control and there was nothing I could do about anything but pray. 

     On Friday, I was proclaiming to the world that I was the happiest I had been all week. At Mass that afternoon, my secret handshake peace giver shook my hand but instead of letting go, she held on until I turned back around. Laughing, I asked her for my hand back. But instead of giving me my hand back, said, "I just want to say that it's good to see your beautiful smile again." And in that moment, I felt somewhat infinite. And I guess that's what truly giving all control to God does for a person; it makes her feel infinite. 

     I can honestly say I learned an extremely valuable life lesson this past week. Well, actually a few. It's okay to cry, to sob and let people see you. It's okay to be human (shocker). It's okay that when you really need a hug so you can cry, to ask for a hug from your Sisters. And finally, when faced with a rocky road, you can choose to either hide under each of them or stand on top, conquering that rock, that mountain, and throw your hands in the air, giving all control to Jesus. Sometimes the road gets rocky, there's no doubt about that. But we get to choose how that rocky road affects us. It's always good to cry about things, to truly embrace the emotions God has blessed you with, but remember that hiding does no one any good. It's the standing atop your mountain and letting God take that control. Trust me, He's got this. And if you need a hug, He's more than willing to give you one. Promise. 

The Men Who Can't Be Moved - Part Two of A Three Part Series

"Every man I meet wants to protect me. I can't figure what from."

- Mae West

     If you are reading this sentence and have not read Part One of this Three Part Series, go back, read it. Trust me, it will make this blog post (and the next one) make so much more sense! But just in case you only have time for one blog post, I'll give you a little background as to what I'm doing here. Thursday night in my Christian Marriage and Family class, we were sent out on a mission: ask the first five people you meet three questions. Those three questions: what is femininity in three words? what is masculinity in three words? and what is marriage in one sentence? So, we went around and questioned people from our professors to the nunnies to random students and what a wide variety of answers we collected. This later prompted me to question what my views on femininity, masculinity and marriage are. So, Part One described my views on femininity. This, Part Two, will take you on an adventure of a lifetime: me, a woman, trying to explain, masculinity. Are you ready? Let's see how much I know!

     He was my first kiss, my first love, my first friend: my Daddy. I saw this quotation on Pinterest (that place is actually extremely addicting....) and fell in love with it! How true! I also saw one that went sort of this like: be the man you'd want your daughter to marry. My Daddy is the number one full embodiment of those two quotations. I was always Daddy's Little Girl and I still am. Daddy taught me everything from how to ride a bike to how to fish to how to work a pony tail (not by example, of course) and of course, how to pray. I have distinct memories of riding in the back seat of the bike down to the marina just to feed the geese bread. Of course, there was also that time Daddy bought me a pink fishy rod kit complete with a target that you laid down in the grass and tried to hit with the hook; we would throw the line off the back deck. And I can remember tons of painful, laborious moments when Daddy tried to pull my CURLY hair into a ponytail; well, I still work it today! And how to pray: well, one night I was all dressed up in a beautiful dress and for some reason had on my white gloves (every little girl was in love with those). He was sitting on the couch, tying his church shoe when I came over and asked him how to fold my hands to pray. He stretched my hands open and then pushed them together saying, "Hands folded in prayer always point up to Jesus." 

     As I got older, he'd bandage up my knee when I skinned it falling off my bike trying to ride right over a giant pothole (this happened more than once because I thought I was...invincible). He'd let me stir the pot before dinner as long as I didn't eat it (which stunk...). He'd sometimes drop me off at school in the morning and as I'd exit the truck (the BIG truck), he'd shout after me, "Make good decisions!" Then, eventually he'd let me DRIVE THE TRUCK. Of course, there were plenty of times when he'd pick me up from my dates with my boyfriends, movie dates with my girl friends, walk in the park with me. But the thing he did the most and still does the most that I absolutely love, is when he drops me off at the convent...and then stays a little while just to chat with my sisters. It's just like those scenarios when the boy is picking up the girl and while the girl is still upstairs getting ready, Daddy is just casually shining the barrel of his shotgun. Except, he was sitting in the community room, laughing and telling story after story to the sisters (yeah..I get the story telling from my Daddy). That's when the convent feels like home; when I know my Daddy is proud and comfortable knowing that this is my life.

     Every since I was young, however, my Daddy, by the little things he did, protected me (and my sisters and mother) as his most important cherished people. I remember asking him once after work, if he'd have rather had us be boys not girls. Because, you know, every child thinks when they are young that Daddies want sons and Mommies want daughters. He said, "No. I love my princesses." Daddy did and still does all he can do to show us the simple happiness, the happiness that most of mankind can't find. One because they don't have my Daddy but two because they are so filled with ideas that happiness lies in money. It's the happiness that comes from road trips and long bike rides. Because even if we're not really doing anything like taking vacations in Cancun or buying a sailboat, he still makes us feel loved by his laborious sandwich making before an adventure or long nights spent planning the perfect day or the laughter that can be heard from miles away. My Daddy has proven to me that in order to be loved, one must sacrifice for his loved one.

     My Daddy is no body builder, that's for sure. He's no business who wears a suit a tie every day. He's no gourmet chef (although, he probably could be). We don't live in a huge house, actually we're all smushed together in three bedrooms. We don't have luxurious cars, although I'd beg to differ; the mom van is stylin'. We don't have a vacation house in the south of France. Nope, we have each other. And we are happy. My Daddy may not "provide" like so many think a man should which fancy dinners and fancy cars and fancy houses, but rather, he provides his daughters and his wife with an irreplaceable love. He gives us the time of day to listen when we're upset, he watches us struggle for a little bit before stepping in to help, just to prove that we each need to struggle first before learning that we need another person, and he shows us that happiness in the littlest of ideas is the best happiness.

     Because of my Daddy, I have become a thick skinned, raging feminist. Okay, not really. I'm a feminist in the sense that I know I am a woman, I am proud of being a woman, and I know what being a woman entails (we disgusted this in Part One!). My Daddy has taught me that being a woman, embodying God's love, demands the utmost respect from all. That is, a woman should be listened to and heard as an equal, not talked down to, not shouted at, and not, be any means, degraded. And so, I have always been a very strong advocate for woman's respect. Have you ever seen the phrase, do not walk ahead, I may not follow, do not walk behind, I may not lead, but instead, walk beside me so as to grow together? That is what my Daddy has essentially taught me about human interaction. While I am fully aware that in many situations like work and school, there are authoritative positions, that does not give anyone the right to disrespect someone who may not be in as high a position. We are all human beings to be treated by other human beings with the same love and care that we, ourselves, demand and desire. All this from my Daddy...woah. 

     Disclaimer: This paragraph is hard for me to write and may be hard for you to read. One night, I was driving with my sisters after having a horrendous argument with my best guy friend. I can still remember that moment with such clarity as it truly was the moment, I knew I had become a woman in all her strengths. Throughout the "conversation" I kept my voice calm, cool and collective, and asked for the possibility of discussing the matter in a more adult time and place. But, there was no backing down. The worst thing for me was to have my little sisters right behind me, almost as if I was shielding them, and listening to the entire "conversation." With every sentence, his voice got louder and louder until finally, I was being yelled at and accused of many falsehoods. I simply, nodded my head, and told him, that I was going to give the conversation a chance, but that was until I realized he disrespected me so much that he would raise his voice at me. Never in his whole life has my Daddy ever raised his voice at my mother. Never. So, immediately, I knew that it was wrong, that is, what was happening to me. I took both my sisters by the hand and walked out the door that night and the first thing I said to my sisters, "Don't ever get involved with a guy who doesn't respect you as much as Daddy taught us a man should. Don't ever get involved with someone who isn't just like Daddy." Of course, my older little sister said, "So....he has to be hairy?" 

      My Daddy has taught me that as a woman to demand respect while still being respectful. He has taught me how to provide for myself but that when a man who loves me enough comes around, to let him provide for me (cooking is NOT women's work....). He has taught me how to be strong, but to let my womanly emotions be the back bone to that strength. He has taught me how to struggle and depend on others because as much as I may know, I am always learning and I will always need others to depend on. My Daddy has taught me all about what it means to be a woman by being the utmost number one example of what it means to be a man. He has provided for me my whole life and will always do so. He has protected my heart, soul and body. He has been the man I need. 

     Of course, this means that any man who wants to try their hand at winning of my heart has HUGE standards to live up to. Let's be honest, if I have to teach you that opening a door for women, old people and children is respectful, forget about trying. I know that may sound harsh, but my Daddy taught me what to look for in a man. And I guess that's why Jesus won my heart over. The only thing that Jesus did that my Daddy hasn't done or can't ever do is....go to Hell and back for me. My Daddy could and would give his life for me and my sisters and mother if he needed to, just like Jesus. But Jesus, when He gave His life for me, traveled the ends of the earth, to Hell and then back again. So yeah...Jesus won my heart over because He's just like my Daddy. Or is it, my Daddy won my heart over because he's just like Jesus. Well...after all is said in done, and you have just read an entire blog post of me bragging about my Daddy, I can sum up masculinity in three words: My Daddy's Love!

God's Got This - A Reflection on Strength

"For when I am weak, then I am made strong."

- 1 Cor. 12:10

"A vocation is a gift. If it has truly been given to you, you will find the strength."

- Rumer Godden, In This House of Brede

     Most Sundays, you can find me, either by myself or with my gaggle of little ones, with a thick, black book open in my lap. When I'm alone, I read in silence. When I'm with the little ones, they read aloud with me. We are praying the Liturgy of the Hours together. This morning, you would have found me, alone in my pew, with a thick book in my lap. However, it was not my Divine Office book. Yes, I'll admit it, I was reading a novel: In This House of Brede. You see, I simply can't put it down and it's not the first time. 

     I read the book for the first time in High School and loved it so much, I read it again. Now, for the third time, I'm reading it once more. I always love re-reading books, especially when I know I've underlined so many words. And so, as I was reading this morning in Mass, I came across a very boldly underlined sentence (see above). As I turned the page, the cantor announced the opening hymn and I had to close my book. 

     I was quietly reflecting on the sentence I needed so obviously when I first read it during the Mass Readings. Suddenly, I realized the first letter from Corinthians was saying, "For the sake of Christ..." and then the above quotation. So, during Communion, I began to reflect on what strength really is. I went back to a few letters I had written yesterday and then even further back to the night I just spent crying (complete vulnerability) in sister's arms and once more back to when one of my dearest sisters said to me, "No matter where you go, you must promise to follow where God leads you. No matter where you go, I will never love you less." Those were all memories of strength in my greatest moments of weakness. That's when I came to this conclusion:

     In all my moments when I felt the strongest, I had only minutes before suffered from intense weakness. I realized that in giving in to the weakness, I was being made strong. See the truth is, we don't like the feeling of weakness, so we try and try and try to remain strong. But the longer we try to be strong when we are really weak, we actually get weaker. It is when we finally let go of our pride and let ourselves become weak, that God fills us with the strong. You see, in my tears and heartache, I was so weak, and when I finally let go of my pride of holding back tears and trying to be strong, when I let the tears flow with someone I trust, I was filled with such strength. 

    So, when you find yourself feeling so weak. Let go of it all, and let yourself simply be weak. Like when as a little girl, and you were so tired, that the moment your Daddy picked you up, you fell weakly asleep in his arms. Let yourself fall weakly into Jesus' arms, for that is why His arms are open on the cross, so you can go to His loving arms. You will find that when you surrender to your weakness, God will fill you with such strength. And I can trust that if my vocation is truly a gift for me, I will find the strength over and over again, just as I have already!