A Reflection on Trust

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart, 

on your own intelligence rely not.

In all your ways, be mindful of Him,

and He will make straight your paths."

- Proverbs 3:5-6

    I am on the first floor by the faculty lounge in school. I am walking to class with my laptop in my arm, the text books piled on top and my coffee mug in my right hand. A student calls my name from behind, "Miss G, Miss G!" I turn around and seemingly begin to solve the world's most recent crisis. As I speak with the student, I feel one of my upper right teeth begin to wiggle so with my tongue, I push it back into place. But before I can get it to stay, it falls out in the middle of my conversation. The student seems not phased by this personally mortifying experience and continues speaking at a rapid pace. I bend down to pick up the tooth off the floor and try to make my way to the faculty lounge to get a cup. The student finishes explaining her crisis and leaves.
    The next thing I know, a few of my colleagues are talking to me, all from different places in the room about different things. All I am trying to do is get a cup with some milk in it - I need to put my tooth there so I can get it put back into my mouth after school. As I stand up after getting the milk, I realize that more of my teeth are loose and wiggly. I'm trying not to speak as much so I can keep my teeth in my mouth, but colleagues keep asking me questions. Each time I open my mouth, more teeth fall out. I'm getting good at catching them all in the cup of milk I've replaced my coffee mug with.
   Finally, I get to class. Late, of course, since I was busy catching all my falling-out teeth. Then a student comments something about my dress, in front of the class. Trying not to be mortified that part of my dress has been stuck in my nylons all day, I put my things down on the desk and adjust my dress. When I open my mouth to say thank you, the rest of my teeth fall out and I no longer have a single tooth in my mouth. The worst part about this whole thing is that not a single person noticed my teeth falling out and I am mortified thinking about how terrifying I must look with my teeth in cup and not in my mouth. I start to sweat and get nervous and before I can say another thing, I wake up.

     It's about 4 am now and I'm worried about whether or not I closed the windows in my office before I left, knowing for well that even if I did, Sharon would have closed them after she took the trash from my room that day. At about 4:30 am, I'll roll over and start worrying about whether or not I emailed the priest a confirmation email about coming to say Mass five months into the school year. It's August. And around 5 am, I'll flip onto my stomach in hopes that a different position will help me sleep but instead I can only think about what people would say about me if I actually didn't have any teeth and what they already say about me for any type of reason. About 5:30 am I'll have exhausted myself from thinking too much and I'll start dreaming again. But if the tooth dream comes back, I'm up for good.

     The amount of times I have a dream about losing my teeth is astronomical. Would I say once a week? Depends on the time of year. But honestly, I've had the tooth dream more times than I can count. While it may sound strange, this tooth dream is one of the most commonly recorded dreams that people have. So I know I'm not the only one waking up feeling like a weirdo having dreamt about teeth. But there's two important factors of my reoccurring dream that I'd like to point out. First, no one in my dream ever notices my teeth falling out; only me. While I think that watching someone's teeth fall out might be extremely traumatizing, it never seems to be the case in my dream. I'm the only one worried about it. Second, I cannot control my teeth. As much as I try to keep them all in my mouth, I fail over and over again. And this is what it means to me: when I'm worried about something, usually I'm the only one worried about it. And what I'm worried about, I usually can't control. Yet, time and time again, I lose hours of sleep over worrying about things I really can't control.

     Last week, I went to Mass and then coffee with a dear Sister friend of mine who has been a part of my life for about ten years now. We always have beautiful conversation that is sometimes light-hearted and other times we try to tackle our understanding of the woes of the world. This time, while telling great stories, laughing loudly and catching up (though I feel, we always pick up where we left off despite the time!), we also began talking about a lot of the latest news stories and the empathetic sadness we feel. That conversation transitioned into a conversation about worrying and our inability to trust at times, despite great faith in God. Why do we worry? What makes us anxious? Why do we let so many things, out of our control, bother us so greatly? We didn't reach a conclusion. But it did lead me down a small road of reflection on trust. How do I actually surrender my anxieties to God and be free of worry?
     A few nights after I saw Sister, I had the darn tooth dream again. But instead of waking up and laying in my bed freaking out for hours, I start praying. I've been having the tooth dream for years and I learned that praying was the best way for me to relieve my worry (and also get back to sleep). I was worried about something huge, something I won't share here, but I remembered back to the conversation I had with Sister a few days prior. We reminded ourselves then that in our moments of weakness and worry, we need to discern what is truly from God. We agreed that sometimes God puts worry in our heart for a good reason, perhaps to keep us from doing something that might bring harm. But God would never wish us to worry ourselves into exhaustion and so this anxiety that wakes me up at night can't be from God. So I began to pray, "Jesus, Your will be done. Not mine. And please, show me Your will."
     Another Sister I know used to tell me to be specific when praying to Jesus. It's not testing God as in saying, "Jesus send me a blue butterfly at 12:15 today to show me your listening." But rather, "Jesus, I am doubting and I need you to be overwhelmingly obvious today. And let me know it's you." That's what I prayed when I woke up. I did not go out of my way to make anything different about my day. I simply woke up, got dressed and ready to go, drove to Joe's house and we went to Mass together.
     Whenever we can, we join each other for Mass at our parishes. That being said, our parish families have really gotten to know us as a couple. So when we walked in, one of the ushers asked Joe and I to bring up the gifts. We accepted this gift and went to find a pew after passing the pastor on our way. He simply nodded a hello as Mass was going to begin soon. We prayed together and when we sat down, I told Joe that I needed him to pray for my heart; I was anxious. I also told him, I was waiting for Jesus to make his will obvious to me to reassure me. Joe simply said, "I know you worry. It will be okay."
     As Mass began, I remember thinking about how Jesus has so clearly made himself and his plan known to me recently. I haven't experienced this worry until now. All of my prayers have pointed me in this direction. And I knew that this was the devil really abusing my worrisome heart. This worry was not of God. This I knew. But my humanity needed reassurance. I received that reassurance when Father began his homily talking about a couple who had just celebrated their 50th anniversary yesterday in the church. We applauded them and father spoke a bit about how a marriage stays successful. Prayer. I admit, I was letting my mind wander in prayer a bit when I felt Joe gently tapping my leg. He was getting up and I was confused. Father had invited a newly engaged parishioner to the altar with his future bride. That newly engaged parishioner was Joe and I was his future bride. Immediately, happy tears starting falling down my face as I thanked Jesus in my heart for truly outdoing himself this time.
      Father talked with us a bit on the altar and then invited the entire congregation to pray over us. He prayed through Mary's intercession, another God-wink for me, and I simply held Joe's hand feeling a wave of grace wash over me. When we went back to our pew, I quickly whispered to Joe, "Jesus answered my prayers." He squeezed my hand and responded, "I know."

      The truth is, human beings worry. We worry about a ton of things we can't control. We doubt despite the fact that everything in life has pointed us this way. We get anxious about little things like how people perceive us, what they think about our actions and more. But this is not of God. While I think it's safe to assume I'll most likely be woken up by the tooth dream again, I know that Jesus can calm my spirit. I know that no matter how big or little my worry, Jesus will make himself overwhelmingly known to me. He will constantly reassure me in my doubts. And to have a fiance that believes this, too, is beyond blessing.

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!