Christmas Eve Eve Eve

Earlier this week I called the childbirth center to find out when my labor nurse was working, then tonight I loaded up the car with Emma, a giant box of gourmet cookies from Costco, and a Christmas card that took me forever to write and headed over to the hospital.

They told me she'd be available around 7:30, but I waited quite a bit longer than that. It never occurred to me to just leave the box of cookies and the card at the nurses' station. I wanted to see My Nurse even though, and this is something I thought about while sitting waiting for her, that I try to avoid most of these situations. I often don't answer the phone, I'll drop by when I know someone isn't there, I almost exclusively email. 

I told myself it was because I didn't really IDENTIFY myself in the card, and if she didn't see me in person and talk to me she'd have no idea who wrote it or what this strange lady was talking about. But I think I'd have wanted to see her anyway. 

She poked her head around the corner and she looked totally different to me. She was wearing street clothes, not scrubs, and she hadn't been up all night working. She didn't recognize me, which I expected. I had prepared a whole introduction. "My name is Maggie," I said, "and you delivered my baby."

She looked at me again and then went, "OHHHH."

So she cooed over Emma, as anyone would, and Emma smiled up a storm and basically did me proud. My Nurse seemed to remember more about Emma's birth the longer I stood there talking to her. She wanted to know how Phillip was ("was he traumatized?") She asked a lot about how I was after I went home, bringing up certain things that happened or things about me she'd observed in the hospital, some of which I don't remember at all and wonder if she might be mixing up with someone else. Kind of graphic scary-ish things that at once were validating and terribly unflattering. 

I told her I just wanted to bring her something and tell her how much I appreciated her presence and that I would never ever forget and she said, "Me either!" 

I thought I might cry - honestly, just driving around to that particular entrance to the hospital was super emotional. I used to feel that way just LOOKING at the hospital where Jack and Molly were born. This was a little different though. It wasn't just The Place Where We Had Emma but also The Place Where This THING Happened. 

I didn't cry. But I do find myself tearing up a lot lately. I never know if this, like, residual hormones or just my innate over-sensitivity to absolutely everything hardly worth crying over. Both? But this entrance of Emma's, this crashing and bursting and loud arrival has really left its mark on me. Now when I pray the Christmas novena the beginning stands out even more: Hail and blessed be the hour and moment in which the Son of God was born, of the most pure Virgin Mary at midnight in Bethlehem in the piercing cold.

Last year I wrote that praying the Christmas novena was an entirely fresh Advent experience for me, and really drove home the setting of Jesus' birth. In a BARN. In the COLD. Around ANIMALS. And DIRT. It wasn't just Away In The Manger and O Little Town of Bethlehem anymore, it was having a baby in a BARN. 

And this year, it's having a baby in a barn and wondering if Mary screamed, if she went out of her mind, if anyone heard, if she even CARED that it was a barn. I no longer remember what it felt like, only that I never want to feel it again. Each time I pray the novena prayer, a tiny part of me remembers, a tiny part of me clings to Mary in a brand new way. And at the end, when you say through the merits of our Savior, Jesus Christ and of his Blessed Mother, I sometimes tack on his Amazing Blessed Mother. Because, well, come on. She had her baby without an epidural and she had her baby in a BARN. 

I intend to celebrate this event with piles of presents and heaps of chocolate. We have something like fourteen get togethers planned between now and Sunday evening and I am so very thankful I have a new baby to haul around to each of these events. And if there's anything good that came out of those three bewildering hours in the hospital its this new way to... connect? with Mary. Well, besides Emma, of course. She's pretty awesome. 

Merry Christmas, Internet!

Eleven years later

So, love languages. I just took the quiz, for kicks, even though mine is bleeding obvious: "words of affirmation". But I was also reminded of how much "acts of service" mean to me. Especially now, when we're so close to having a baby and I haven't done things like, uh, make dinner, in weeks. 

"Physical touch", which I guarantee is Phillip's primary language, is dead last for me. I'M SORRY, PHILLIP. 

I'm reminded of this because Phillip and I have been talking about this Unbloggable Thing for a few months now, a sort of sticky situation that neither of us are quite sure how to navigate. However, I am always - ALWAYS - at peace and reassured and totally fine with everything when Phillip actually speaks the words, "I will put you first." 

This has been true ever since I've met him. He's someone who does a lot of Helping Other People and there are often these obligations to others where I'm like: WHAT ABOUT ME? In college it was about the freshmen in his bible study. Now it's work and work people and even sometimes Phillip gets really caught up in wanting to help a relative or close friend and I'm silently fuming, all: WHY ISN'T HE LIKE THIS WITH ME? 

He is, of course. In a different way, since everything about me strongly affects HIM, and for a 9 on the enneagram he tends to "merge" with me (oh wow am I font of personality typing today)... anyway, it makes a world of difference for me when he's able to articulate it and speak it out loud. "You. Come. First." 

Other phrases that mean the world: "I appreciate you." "I know you do a good job." "I know you work hard." "You're a great mom." "I like you best." "Why would I want to hang out at happy hour with all my awesome work people when I can stay home with my hugely pregnant cranky wife and watch bad television?" 

Acts of service... who doesn't like those? I think, for me, acts of service is about someone recognizing a need without me having to bring it up. There was a while a few weeks ago where I thought I might die of washing dishes. I wouldn't do them at night, then I'd be faced with this huge mess in the kitchen every morning which, believe it or not, would ruin my entire day. Like I would just feel overwhelmed from the get go, conquered the minute I got out of bed. Then Phillip started helping with the dishes a little more and OH WOW I haven't had a morning like that in a while. 

I've tried to make a greater effort - okay, not necessarily NOW, when I'm weeks away from giving birth and sort of mad at the entire world - to respond to Phillip's love language. Which is HARD. I mean, I'm a pretty touchy huggy person, but it's not the first way I think of to take care of someone. Probably because that's not what I want when I'm not doing well. But all Phillip really wants is a massage. Seriously. Sometimes I think how much easier life would be if I just mentally scheduled a shoulder massage after dinner several times a week. I even remember the first time I finished rubbing his shoulders - because my fingers were ACHING - and Phillip turning around and saying, "I feel LOVED!" 

I tell myself this is as legitimate as needing to hear that I am appreciated on a regular basis. Even though it's obviously not. I mean, a MASSAGE? Really? Can I just tell you how many times the LAST thing I want is for someone to grind their fingers into my shoulders? STAY AWAY FROM ME. 

But none of the love languages are rated higher than the others. Sigh. 

I don't think we had any clue about these things when we got married. I've been reading that VirtuousPla.net website and it's actually starting to irritate me. There's a lot of dating/marriage stuff written by people who are dating/barely married. Not that that means those posts aren't weighty or worthy or anything, but I'm just highly annoyed by how churchy they are. And I thought Phillip and I were churchy! All this stuff about preparing for marriage and asking the right questions and hard core grounding in the faith and all that - GOOD STUFF. I do not deny it. They are smarter and wiser than me. 

But Phillip and I were two stupidheads who happened to be super serious about dating (as in, we considered the idea of breaking up and then having to find someone else a giant undesirable bummer). I met him at 19, I started dating him at 21, we got married when I was 23. I was the only person I knew who felt I wasn't old enough. But it wasn't about age it was about... well, I just knew I didn't KNOW anything yet. Who WERE we? I mean, I knew he liked massages, but come on, we were Churchy Waiting-For-Marriage Kids and that's all he was getting YOU KNOW? And man, do you know how long it took me to realize that I just needed him to say, "YOU COME FIRST"? Yeeeeeeeeears.

By the grace of God we've figured this stuff out. We fight and fight and fight. We know we're stuck with each other so we HAVE to figure it out EVENTUALLY. Believe me, eight years ago this Unbloggable Sticky Situation would have been a much much MUCH bigger deal. And now it's... hard, but talkable. Awkward but both sides are infused with major understanding of how the other one works, and why the other one is taking that stance. We didn't know this crap eight years ago. I wonder what crap we don't know right NOW.

I have to say, I spent absolutely no time discerning if marriage was my vocation. Well, I HAD prayed about dating Phillip for an embarrassing amoutn of time, but it didn't occur to me that we might actually get married. Honest. That was so... unfathomable. And then it happened. And we had a million things to learn about each other. We probably have a billion more.

Last night Phillip's phone beeped before we went to bed. He pulled it out and looked at his calendar and looky there - guess who has "anniversary of dating maggie" on his PHONE. Who has not mentioned the day since, oh, it happened? To be fair, I had no idea. So not on my radar. But I remember it: talking the night before he left for a four-week trip to China, to overlap with my two-month trip to Europe. He'd waited till the last minute (TYPICAL PHILLIP) and still didn't want to make a decision (TYPICAL PHILLIP) and we said we'd talk about it again when I got home.

Then he picked me up at the airport, with flowers he left in the car because he was embarrassed (no longer typical Phillip) and I made him walk around the lake at midnight and talk talk talk because I couldn't stand the idea of not being around him.  

That's all I really needed to know, you know. That everything was lacking without him. Well, that and he'd always put me first (possibly dependent on massage frequency. But I can work with that.) 

Lists. Thoughts while painting. Is it the fumes?

With the help of Home Depot, Target and grandparents who take the children all day, my bedroom is almost done. Things I've accomplished:

• painted all the walls Martha Stewart Sharkey Gray (except for one strip of hallway where I ran out of paint, but I don't care, you can't see it, I'll do it some other time)
• painted a Goodwill chair and a left-by-the-sellers nightstand Martha Stewart Persimmon Red
• spray painted my desk white
• purchased new white duvet cover and 3 pillows
• purchased 2 nightstand lamps
• set up the mini crib in the corner
• moved the folding table serving as my nightstand downstairs, replaced it with the cheapie Target cabinet I originally bought for our townhouse powder room
• purchased curtains that match the bed pillows

Things I still need to do:

• buy black drapery rod, hang curtains
• unpack/break down/move out 2 small boxes of miscellaneous junk from the move

Bonus Items ie: I SHOULD do these things but I am running out of steam...

• paint Phillip's dresser white, replace knobs
• find a coral throw for the blue rocking chair
• scour Pinterest for ideas for the walls
• scour craigslist because I hate both nightstands (although they are improvements over what we had before)
• buy some sort of bench for the end of the bed
• rug?

While I painted I thought about my previous post. I thought about this article I discussed with my friend the other day, about how saying "you look so cute!" shouldn't be the first thing we say (or notice) about little girls. I can't remember what article it was, but it made the rounds a few weeks ago. Phillip pointed it out to me, anyway, thinking I'd be all gung ho. But instead it just annoyed me. I felt like I'd heard that a million times, that shouldn't we have moved on by now, of COURSE we are not valuing our little girl's looks over everything else, is it really so BAD to comment on how cute she is, blah blah blah. And I think I probably surprised my friend with my vehement reaction, but honestly, it just felt like some writer couldn't think of anything good that day and decided to poke the dead horse with a few sticks. 

And now I am wondering if that was what I was doing in my last post... I'm not sure. I would find that annoying, if I was. Then again, if we are still discussing women's worth in terms of their, ahem, purity, maybe these horses aren't quite dead after all. So. I thought sometime I would share my old issues with submission and why I don't think those things anymore... or how I think about it differently, I suppose, is a better way of putting it. If you're interested. (You: UM, NOT PARTICULARLY.) Well. Anyway. It might be an interesting discussion at least. 

But right now my stomach is yowling for foooood and you know what I have in my refrigerator? A whole half watermelon that I bet I could destroy in about five minutes. Man, watermelon is just the BEST. Seriously, it's right up there with chocolate cake. New Baby is totally comprised of watermelon, cake and paint fumes. (JUST KIDDING, FIL!)

 

But I AM sending him to Timbuktu

I had an awful time with Jack last week. Friday was the worst. I ended up SOBBING IN FRONT OF MY MOTHER. Ugh. Then Phillip came home and I guess because there were two of us and double the attention/distraction, Jack was a lot easier over the weekend. But Phillip leaves again tomorrow. Gak. 

He was easier, but not perfect. Not that I'm expecting perfect, but there was a moment during Mass when the only reason I didn't haul him out and wallop him in the car was because we were two feet from the priest giving the homily. I didn't want THAT much attention. 

At one point he was waving his palm around (It's Palm Sunday! Someone please tell the realtor who called me in the middle of Mass! Wanting to see our house in ten minutes!) a little enthusiastically and after the eleventy ninth time telling him to stop, he managed to tickle the nose of the old lady sitting behind us. And old lady who, I was quite certain, had spent all of HER time in Mass praying for the quick obliteration of the young family in front of her.

"STOP IT," I hissed and took the palm away. 

"Oh, I don't mind," said the old lady, very nicely. 

I gave her a look that said, "Whatever. The child will still be mailed to Timbuktu as soon as we get home."

Then she looked at me with watery blue eyes - she had a sort of Joan Hickson face, if Joan Hickson were about twice the size - and said, "These are as close to angels as we get in church."

SO MAYBE I CRIED A LITTLE BIT. Not that I let anyone see. 

Then AFTER Mass we were walking out and this woman who has kids just a couple years older than mine, who I know by sight but rarely speak to, happened to say, "They are just so angelic."

At which I burst out laughing. As you would. 

"Oh, I know," she said, "But they just LOOK like ANGELS."

I thanked her, walked out, put my angels in the car and tried to think of what God might be telling me, on Palm Sunday, in Lent which everyone knows is not my favorite season. It's been a rather difficult Lent, and that's without even adding the Lent part. There's a lot of upheaval going on in our four lives right now and I haven't participated in one single Lenten retreat or stations of the cross or ANYTHING even mildly spiritually enriching. 

What I HAVE done is kept to my Lenten "sacrifice", which was to pray for others every single day. I often don't get to this until I'm already half asleep in bed, but I DO do it. And I wonder where I'd be right now without this, as it's forced me to think about people other than myself. Other people's problems which, quite honestly, are much bigger than my own. I spend my days stressed out about behavior problems and when to schedule movers and how in the WORLD I'm going to pack it all, then I go to bed and lift up friends who've lost babies, jobs, good health. 

And not only has it kept my life in perspective, it's been... I don't quite know how to describe it. I've seen many of my prayers answered in the last several months. The surety I have about God's presence in my life and everyone else's has only grown. 

There's something thinky in all of that, somewhere, right? I hope so, because I was tapped to write the little "reflection" blurb at the top of my church's Easter worship aid, something I agreed to immediately because I knew if I let myself think about it I would say no. It's only a few sentencees, but I'm still wondering how in the world not to make it sound like a blog paragraph. We all know I'm a less than eloquent Reflecter. 

But there's something in this Lent, with my angels and my prayers and the temporary hardships we're experiencing. Out of that I need to draw out the Easter, the unbelievable good news. 

In which my weekend put me in that Let's Sit And Talk For Hours About WHO WE ARE MEANT TO BE! kind of mood

I had a fantastic weekend and I'm going to tell you all about it. 

First I got my hair cut. Again. I went to a different salon, I said, "I just have too much HAIR back here" and all the hair that was giving me the Very Short But Still Sort Of A Bob effect was promptly razored off. Which is exactly what I wanted. I'm now feeling all the things I didn't feel the first time I went in, ie: OMG WHAT HAVE I DONE. I mean, I love it. But I'm also extremely aware that it will take yeeears to grow it out. So even if I didn't love it, I would decide to love it. But I do love it. So there.

Second, I went to this thing at Seattle University, a Jesuit college, called The Spirituality Book Fair. Or Festival? I forget. It was advertised in my church bulletin, but all I really saw in the ad was the name ANNE LAMOTT and obvs I had to be there.

I really had no idea what to expect. The schedule included dozens and dozens of authors speaking on dozens and dozens of topics. The one I really wanted to attend was called something like Pious Trash: Writing About Faith For A Secular Audience, but more than anything I wanted to see Anne Lamott give the keynote address. I've loved her nonfiction books (I haven't read her novels) and I thought she was hilarious and brilliant when I went to one of her readings last spring. She is also my High Priestess Of Writing Advice and I'm just really encouraged and inspired by the things she has to say about not just writing, but the kind of person a writer is. For example, being a highly strung neurotic person may actually help. WAHOO!

Anyway, my friend Beth went with me (HI BETH!) and it was just awesome. Awesome! Even though we only attended 1) the Anne Lamott keynote and 2) a session called Spiritual Intimacy, which Beth picked out by the way, and during which I pretty much wanted to die a thousand invisible deaths. We would have seen more, but we spent most of our day in a fabulous French cafe eating a weeks' worth of calories. Totally worth it.

So I didn't see as much as I wanted, but I enjoyed just being in the hall with the book tables. I just loved the VIBE. Not in the Spiritual Intimacy session, ha ha, but the whole event. It was jam packed full of people interested in the kinds of things I'm interested in. I am very fond of Middle-Aged Leftwing Activisty And Maybe A Little Bit Strident Christian Ladies, and their ranks were flush. There were Roman collars and yarmulkes and head coverings and tables heaped with books and bookish people milling about, drinking coffee, talking about The Search For Meaning. 

That was ostensibly the topic of Anne Lamott's speech, but she more or less rambled on for an hour (a wonderful hour), just sort of talking about the kind of people we are. You know, the people in that room. The people who are interested in talking about The Search For Meaning and why we are the way we are and the things we do to move forward. She often used writing as an analogy, which of course I lapped up like a wide-eyed puppy. "If you think writing is your calling, your spiritual calling, and you're not doing it right now, one day you'll be eighty years old and you'll wake up and be heartbroken." That was, ah, rather convicting. 

She talked about how no one wants you to be a writer. When you tell people you're going to write, no one says, "Oh good! Wonderful!" It's in no one's best interest, in the same way being a pilgrim, embarking on a search for a higher power in your life, is in no one's best interest. It's not going to make anyone's life easier. If you want to write, according to Anne Lamott, you must waste a lot of time, a lot of paper, and stare into space. Same thing with looking for God. One thing she said really hit me: if you live this way, you might not achieve all the things you want to achieve. Things like earning a lot of money, climbing corporate ladders, getting published, becoming famous in some way. Things that often require a singular focus you can't necessarily give. 

There was a way that she sort of befriended the audience, knew that we were her people. She talked a lot about her plight as an "overly sensitive" child and assumed a lot of us were as well. She talked to us like she knew who we were, and since I was already feeling the Vibe, you know, I felt clued in. In some ways I felt like she DID know me. I felt I was part of a group of survivors. People who were familiar with The Abyss, as AL put it, and for whom God was real and large and present. 

Afterwards I was trying to describe to Beth what I so admire in AL's words and manner of speaking, and then Beth said, "She is comfortable in her brokenness." And that is so TRUE. That is exactly what I latch onto. It's not about shocking you or preaching or impressing or competing, it's this sort of matter-of-fact there but for the grace of God go I. 

I've given a lot of thought to writing, and the kind of writing I want to do, this weekend, and while I haven't come up with any big thoughts or decisions or realizations, I do know that I want to write about brokenness. Not in sappy or judgmental or preachy or know-it-all or super intellectual or even well-written ways, but just matter-of-fact. That this is who I am, and I know it, and I am as comfortable as I can be in it, and I can see my Abyss, but I am a pilgrim too, and there but for the grace of God go I. 

APPARENTLY I should have posted this on the Catholic blog. WHATEVS! And all of it reminds me that I have to respond to a churchy email from a beloved reader... seriously, if YOU want to send me churchy emails I EAT THEM UP. Perhaps certain people are too busy earning money and going to school and meeting with professors on Sunday afternoons to spend much time Discussing The Meaning Of Life with me. ALAS. 

Oh and THEN we totally invited ourselves over to Liz and Bubba's place for football watching, which is hilarious because 1) I know next to nothing about football, neither do I care 2) my kids are always little pests at their house 3) it just ENCOURAGES my husband to sit on the couch and eat and ignore me and 4) their TEAM was in the GAME. So I had to actually ROOT FOR A TEAM, when what I really wanted to do was finish off Liz's freaking amazing dip while writing snippy letters to the NFL powers that be re: Hair Guidelines. I mean, what was coming out of some of those helmets?! Yuck! And let's not talk about that quarterback's beard. SHUDDER.

Adventy

Today was the first Sunday of Advent and as I have never truly observed Advent before (or, let's face it, any liturgical season) and I ALSO have children on the Cusp of Understanding, I decided I had to make an Advent wreath. 

See, I chose to observe via Advent wreath because it seemed like the LEAST I could do. Other people have these daily activities planned, but other than opening a little door and scarfing the chocolate within, I'm even worse at daily observances let alone seasonal ones. But with an Advent wreath, you just 1) make it and 2) light candles. And it's probably okay if you even forget to light the candles every so often, just as long as you do it on the four Sundays of Advent and make a decent effort at explaining what Advent IS to your kids. Right? 

Except my Advent wreath is so bad. It's not even a wreath. I thought about collecting greenery, but it's all wet outside and gross. I had four candles, but they were all white (you need pink and purple) and I couldn't figure out how to ARRANGE them. In a wreath-like manner. SIGH. I ended up putting them in small holders and circling them around a holly berry votive holder. MOST GHETTO ADVENT WREATH EVER. I'm so embarrassed of it I don't even want to put a picture on my website. 

Also, I had to color one of my candles pink with a Sharpie, and instead of listening to the prayer or my many attempts at telling them about the Baby Jesus, the kids were insistent on finding out how I made THAT candle PINK! 

The other thing I was going to try and do during Advent was Not Shop. It's not really going to happen, but I did get all of my kid shopping and most of my adult shopping done over the weekend. So I'm not going to be as focused on Present Acquiring as I usually am during December. But I realized that I do have one singular Season of Advent blockage and that would be: my Christmas party. 

For example! My head is entirely stuffed with decorating ideas and cookie recipes and grocery lists and where to put the chairs and how to put out the food and I really have no idea how the Baby Jesus feels about this. On one hand, I love throwing parties, I love opening my house, I love showing my friends a good time and I think Jesus is a huge fan of all of those things. On the OTHER hand I'm supposed to be waiting to celebrate, I just got the schedule of all the penance services, I'm supposed to be prayerful. Not, you know, thinking up a Signature Party Cocktail. 

I don't know. I found myself bargaining today. "Well God, I'm REALLY excited about this party, so maybe we'll just save the Proper Observance of Advent stuff until after it's over? I'll still have two more weeks! It's all good!" 

AAAAANYWAY. I suppose I should save my intense "why can't I just LOVE the liturgy like all the GOOD Catholics" introspection for the Catholic Blog, eh? 

I've been carried here to where the river flows

So I've been thinking about what it means to "write more churchy stuff" because, as you may not be surprised to learn, I had no freaking idea what that meant when I wrote it last week. I'm still not sure what I mean. The best I can come up with is somewhere between "well I write everything ELSE down" and "I think it would be good for me." Maybe with a bit of, "I wonder what would happen if I did?" Okay, actually, maybe a lot of that.

The stuff I write in this space is supposed to make up for not keeping a journal anymore, and to supplement my sorry excuses for baby books. It's for exploring a random thought here and there and for working through the average every day conundrum. Occasionally I attempt to entertain, a lot of times I fail, sometimes I get things wrong or I leave something out or I say it poorly. I figure things out through writing and this website has helped in crazy innumerable ways, mostly because of you. And because I like you so much, I LOVE so many of you, I try not to disappoint. I rarely, if ever, write something controversial, confrontational or incendiary, and I stay away from that stuff on purpose. Outside of my magazines and conversations with Phillip and my dad, it doesn't really interest me. I mean, if you would like to go out for coffee sometime and spend two hours discussing one of my Strongly Held Opinions (I have several) then that's awesome. But here? I would much rather talk about television.

Not to say that talking about being Catholic or going to church or faith in general is necessarily controversial, confrontational and/or incendiary, but this is not a Catholic Blog and not all of you are Catholic or, to continue using the term I hate but can't figure out what else to use: churchy. So it's true - I self-censor. I joke. I don't say everything I could say. Sometimes I think I make it sound less important in my life than it is because 1) there are so many other churchy writers and they ALL do it better than I do, seriously, why even bother and 2) I don't want the not-churchy types to disappear. On the first point... well, maybe I'll get to that later. And on the second: wow. I am not giving any of us any credit.

So I think about what it means to write more about... God, faith, church, spirituality, WHATEVER and I always come to the same conclusion. If I'm really going to write about it, if I'm really going to say more, those posts should have their own space. A year ago I even went so far as to set up an entirely new blog, but I only wrote one post and I didn't tell anyone about it. I got rid of it, but today I'm thinking about bringing it back. I don't want to throw up a random post every so often about Church or Thoughts I Had Of A Spiritual Nature. It feels like it should be more of a narrative (and oh God we are diving into some pretty self-indulgent territory here, aren't we..., I mean, what's more self-indulgent and narcissistic than having a blog? Having MULTIPLE blogs!) It feels a lot like wanting to create a blog for losing the baby weight. The churchy stuff, especially if I think it might be 'good' for me, whatever that means, seems like it fits best in its own space. It's its own journey (GAG) much like my whole Hot By Thirty journey (GAAAAG.)

Sorry. That was revolting, even for me.

I was thinking about all of this in the car today, driving to the bank, skipping through radio stations. I landed on the Christian music station, which I hate 99% of the time because try as I might, I just haven't learned to love Christian music. I DO try. That's why I still have the preset. But most of the time I immediately jump to the next station - except this time. It was playing one of my all time favorite Christian songs (admittedly, a short list) - Dive, by Steven Curtis Chapman. This is a hokey upbeat not-cool song. It's not even by an artist or band that I would admit I listen to in public - it's by Steven Curtis Chapman. I mean, I'm CATHOLIC. All Catholics know about Christian music is the lyrics to 'On Eagle's Wings'. But this song was on a compilation CD I bought in college and I love it. I've loved it for years. I love the lyrics. I love the music. And whenever I hear it I get PUMPED. 

And I was sitting in my car in the bank parking lot listening to this song and thinking: I have no idea what I will WRITE in a new churchy stuff blog, but maybe I should take a leap of faith and try it ANYWAY.

Gifts

Ever since I went to that workshop a weekend or two ago I've been thinking more and more about where I put my energy. Especially these last few days when I've spent so many hours writing. It's only been four days, but I'm already wondering if this is a way to create a habit, if, when Phillip goes downstairs for his nightly hour or so of homework, that will be my time to write. I'm excited thinking about it, because that's definitely an area where I know I went to expend energy, and where I know I'm not doing enough.

But there are other places that don't feel that way. Or only sometimes feel that way. I think back to that workshop and try to figure out if those are places where I feel 'gifted'. And it's not that I don't want to do anything I'm not gifted in, obviously, but sometimes I fall into the trap of feeling like I HAVE to do something because it's a GOOD THING TO DO even when I DON'T WANNA. The example the priest at the workshop used was volunteering at a soup kitchen, which he dreaded and hated. Was it a bad thing to do? No. Was it something he should never do? No, of course not. But did he need to feel guilty about not wanting to work in a soup kitchen when he was obviously gifted in other areas and found joy volunteering and serving in other ways? NO.

So I have a few soup kitchens in my life. None of them are as... worthy as a soup kitchen, I should say. But I have a few Good and Fun For Other People things going on that I don't always feel Good or Fun about. But sometimes I do? So it's confusing? I guess my three years on the church committee is a good example of this. Was it a good thing to do? Sure. Was it the best place for me? Was it the best use of my time? Doubtful.

Anyway, I've been thinking about these things and today I was feeling sort of down about one of them. I was comparing myself to everyone else and thinking: gee Self, you sort of suck at this. Maybe you should step down. Maybe that would be a GOOD THING. Maybe it's OKAY to suck! OWN THE SUCKITUDE!

Right? Totally okay things to say to yourself. But I swear, not a minute after I decided I would put in my resignation, I got an email FULL of affirmation. FULL of encouragement. FULL of gratitude that I was involved. So I ask you, good friends in the Internet, what the heck am I supposed to do with THAT?!

Well, of COURSE I did a complete 180 and am now totally and complete re-energized in this particular department. Nothing like a little flattery, eh?

AND THEN (and this is the OTHER thing I've been thinking about re: gifts) I was all, "OBVIOUSLY The Person Who  Sent Me The Email has the gift of Encouragement!" I've been sort of annoying with the Gift Labeling lately. As I sat through the workshop I wasn't only tallying up my gifts* but all of my friends'. I'm such a dork. 

Like, I was thinking about this one friend of mine who always knows what to DO. I mean, physical tangible things to DO. (This would be, for the uninitiated, the gift of service.) When both of my babies were teeny tiny she would come over and suddenly all my dishes were washed. I wouldn't even notice her doing it. Or when we get our kids together to play, she always picks up the toys and cleans up the lunch dishes. I don't do this at her house. I HATE admitting that, but I don't. And it's not because I don't WANT to, I just don't even THINK about it. I suppose that could mean that I don't want to, because if I wanted to I'd be thinking about it, but I liked the way the priest put it. He doesn't have the gift of hospitality. He doesn't walk into coffee hour and notice who is sitting by themselves. It's not even on his radar. And that's how I am with other people's dishes. NOT ON MY RADAR.

But it's totally on my friend's radar. And I have another friend who, I've noticed, always says the right thing in a crucial moment. WITHOUT FAIL. I don't know what gift that is - wisdom? knowledge? - but SERIOUSLY. I know this because I'm the one sitting there all "Uhhhhmmmm" and she's asking, like, INSIGHTFUL QUESTIONS and singling out the IMPORTANT ELEMENTS. Whatever gift that is, I DO NOT HAVE IT.

I know this isn't any great revelation or news to anyone, but the idea that I don't have to be good at everything, that I don't have to LIKE everything - that knowledge has been freeing in a new way lately. In the last couple weeks I've been giving myself more grace than usual. Which is, I'll just say it: MIRACULOUS. Instead of being jealous and/or coming down with a total inferiority complex next to the friend who always knows what to say, I've been able to remind myself that THAT IS HER GIFT. And IT IS NOT MINE. I'm the friend who, when another friend was informed of an unthinkable family tragedy, sat her butt down in front of the computer and found the fastest cheapest plane ticket out of Seattle. That's the kind of thing I can do.

I do it with you guys too. Some of you leave the most encouraging comments or send the most affirming emails. I suspect things about you based on your own blogs. And I've met some of you in person, and I know you have the gifts of craftsmanship and hospitality and faith and teaching and pastoring. It's so much FUN, this gift deciphering. 

Aaaand, I think that's enough procrastinating for one evening. I'll be lucky if I make my daily quota today. LE SIGH.

*when I use the word "gifts" I'm using it in the context of "spiritual gifts" or, in the Catholic tradition, "charisms". I'm not referring to the "fruits of the Holy Spirit" found in Galatians, but an unspecified number of spiritual gifts (again, according to the Catholic tradition) that show up primarily in Romans 12, 1 Corinthians 12 and Ephesians 4. (And yes, I totally just looked in the book for that information. SUE ME.)

Projects! And gifts! And many, many parentheses!

So, I need a project. In all my fretting over what grad school was going to be like, I never fretted about being bored. (Which is the problem with fretting, anyway. Whatever you're fretting over is rarely what you SHOULD be fretting over, and even though I KNOW THIS, I fret anyway. AHEM.) It never occurred to me that I'd be wandering around wondering what to do with myself. I have my television, a giant stack of magazines, books, exercise and HELLO, I have THE INTERNET. And I even HAVE a project - about nine thousand things to learn to improve next year's Blathering website. (DORK!)

But Phillip goes to school at night, or he's doing homework downstairs, and I'm sitting on the couch not feeling my TV or my magazines or even (I'M SORRY!) the internet. I feel purposeless. Blah.

I started thinking about writing. I realized NaNoWriMo was around the corner. I thought, "Hmm?"

On Saturday I attended a Catherine of Siena Institute workshop called Called and Gifted. It was like career counseling for churchy people. What are we good at? What do we like to do? What things do we do that make us happy? Add up your scores and figure out what committee to join!

Okay, so not QUITE like that, although there was definitely some adding up of scores. No, most of it was sitting in these TERRIBLY uncomfortable metal chairs and listening - being taught, really - by the coolest priest I've ever had the pleasure to hear. And yes, I just used "coolest" and "priest" in the same sentence.

Dudes, this guy? Was like your favorite college campus minister (for those of us who HAD a favorite campus minister) in a Roman collar. This priest could hang with any of the [many, many] fabulous speakers I got to hear during my four years in Protestant youth culture; I'd even say he'd be near the top. He was probably in his mid-thirties and had the most worldly way of speaking... and I know that probably doesn't sound like a compliment to some of you, but BELIEVE ME. It was so refreshing. So appealing and CLEAR. Maybe I just haven't been around younger priests, but I WAS sitting behind two seminarians and even they, I think, were enthralled with (and possibly intimidated by) this guy. I'm awful at repeating other people's stories (I'm awful at MY OWN stories) so you'll just have to trust me that he was hilarious, but appropriately hilarious. Entertaining but with meaning. You know? It's not like you ever forgot he was a priest. And for a while I thought maybe he just appealed to my generation, but he made all 130 participants laugh in unison, and when I was leaving an old Filipino lady sidled over to me and said, "Usually I fall asleep, but not today!"

It was exciting and inspiring and such a blessing to hear him speak. And not just because the lady next to me referred to him as Father What A Waste. [The priest's gifts, as determined by a layperson in the second-to-last row: Leadership, Teaching, Evangelization, Using Snark in a Priestly Fashion.]

My "Catholic Spiritual Gifts Inventory" (SIGH) (I wish it wasn't so... BUSINESSY) (I mean, doesn't that name just BUG?) was, at first, not much of a surprise. I've taken enough personality tests (and lived enough LIFE) to know that I would get a running start, tackle The Gift Of Administration and kick all other would-be claimers as far away as possible. 

But Administration was only my second highest score. My first highest score was Writing.

I know, I know that sounds like I Am The Best Writer etc. though I should think it's obvious that's not the case. It's more like... the potential to USE writing to glorify God. At least, that's how I thought of it. And that's why it was a surprise to me, because I have never really used writing in that way. I write the occasional churchy post and sometimes I write something that elicits a thank you email or two, but mostly I write because IT JUST COMES OUT. (Side note: long time friend said something like, "Don't take this the wrong way, but I just don't think I could... WRITE that much about my LIFE." To which I said, "ARE YOU CALLING ME A NARCISSIST?" Sniff! No, I knew what she meant. She meant, although she might not have realized it herself, that she is not a writer.) [Her gifts as determined by her old friend: Administration, Knowledge, Teaching, Leadership, Picking Out Way Cool Glasses.] But anyway, I was never one of those earnest girls who journalled (I have many journals, but they are all about boys, none of whom are named Jesus) and have never entertained the thought of writing as a ministry. A blurb about St. Anthony for the bulletin on his feast day? A reflection on the Gospel reading for the top of the worship aid? NO THANKS.

The presenter said we have the gift if, when we use it, we are energized, we feel we've found our "place", we are fruitful and effective without struggle, we experience joyful satisfaction and we are in the minority (meaning, as a possible example, that I am alone among most of my real life friends in wanting to write about my life every single day on the internet.)

I was hemming and hawing about writing as a gift, a spiritual gift, when I heard the priest say something about experimenting. Trying it out. Seeing what happens. And NaNoWriMo popped into my head again.

WHY NOT?

So I'm gonna. I'm not going to try writing something churchy, or something that *I* think would glorify God, I'm just going to write. If it's a gift then it can't help but glorify him anyway. I'm not entirely sure how teenage romance (I KNOW, HOW EMBARRASSING, you should see my father slinking away, hiding his face in shame, all "Why can't she just pound out a good sci-fi novel? If she'd only just READ the books I keep RECOMMENDING, she'd SEE THE SCI-FI LIGHT!") will glorify The Almighty, but that's all I've got right now. Unless you want to read about a SAHM with a husband in school and two kids fighting over their respective pumpkins OH WAIT. You're already reading that.

I am under NO impression that I am going to actually WRITE A FREAKING NOVEL. I am doing this to 1) attempt to get in the habit of writing (NOT FOR THE BLOG) every day and 2) stomp my inner editor to a bloody pulp. I swear, I have been writing the first 10 pages of a novel for A YEAR. I really love what my yay-you've-joined-NaNoWriMo email said: ...your inner editor is a nitpicky jerk who foolishly believes that it is possible to write a brilliant first draft if you write it slowly enough. And oh yeah, 3) experiment with this gift idea.

And while I'm not sure how much I will be writing here (my guess: probably just as much, if not more, hello procrastination!), I hope to have your support. I told some friends last night I was going to do this (that's another thing the email recommends, because potential humiliation is a great motivator) and they were super supportive and way more excited than I expected them to be. But they are also not writers. They don't have blogs. They don't spend free time dreaming up characters. They don't have file folders full of unfinished drafts and 10 page starts. I do. I bet some of you do too. And I am going to need you to dry my tears and mix me drinks. Deal?

My Spiritual Gifts Inventory didn't exactly help me figure out what to do at CHURCH, however. It did give me some language to describe my sometimes still-conflicted thoughts about the Non-Denominational College Fellowship (the institution valued some gifts over others! or maybe they wanted everyone to have the same kind of gifts! or that these were the best gifts! why else would they threaten hellfire when I didn't want to invite my Goth neighbor to the barbecue!] [well, not HELLFIRE] [you know what I'm talking about!]) I still don't know about NOW, though. No magic answer! Boo! Although, and this is true, I did have a flash forward of myself chairing the Yearly Ginormous Fundraiser Organizational Committee meeting at the Catholic school and my next thought was REALLY, GOD? THAT'S WHAT'S IN STORE FOR ME? BECAUSE I QUIT.

[My gifts, as determined by The Inventory: Writing, Administration, Intercessory Prayer, Hospitality. Not Discernment of Spirits, which, if you must know, was a MAJOR BUMMER.] [And also, I forgot, The Gift Of Parenthetical Statements.]

But be of good cheer, I have overcome the world

So, remember when I was all: must have something that can only be found in a monastery in Dubuque, Iowa?

I wanted this:

 

A nun drew this for her order's Christmas card a few years ago, and I think I first saw it when I followed a link from Jennifer's site to a Catholic news blog. I think. I can't really remember, it was a long time ago, but that sounds right. I saved the image and hunted unsuccessfully for a copy online. Another Jennifer finally prodded me to just email the nuns (duh) and that's when I found out I could only buy the print in person. In a monastery. In Dubuque, Iowa.

Miraculously (and I mean that) Sarah offered to run my errand for me while road tripping through the Midwest. In the meantime I started up a wonderful correspondence with a warm and friendly Sister Carol at the abbey, dorkily introducing her to mommyblogs and organizing a late night drop off/pick up/money in sealed envelope scheme. A few weeks later a package of cards showed up in my mailbox. 

A few real life people asked me what I was so desperate to buy from a monastery in Dubuque, Iowa and when I told them they were like, "OH. Right. Well then." So I'm afraid I might be disappointing you too, but there is something about this picture that I love, something hopeful and wonderful and I had to have my own copy.

There's a lot I could say (and have tried to say, you should see my drafts folder) about this picture, but it doesn't come out in quite the right way. It's one of those times when I realize I am not the writer I would like to be. 

It doesn't say a thousand words so much as, "But be of good cheer, I have overcome the world." Which is one of my favorite verses (and, to be honest, one of the very few verses I actually REMEMBER). But what I most love about it is its female perspective. It's one woman lifting up another, one who is bound to guilt and shame and fear. 

The text inside the card reads:

My mother, my daughter, life-giving, Eve,
Do not be ashamed, do not grieve,
The former things have passed away,
Our God has brought us to a New Day.
See, I am with Child,
Through whom all will be reconciled.
Oh Eve! My sister, my friend,
We will rejoice together
Forever,
Life without end.

Obedient, faithful, strong Mary. Her foot on the serpent, her face compassionate. Thank God. Doesn't it make you feel that way? Thank God. 

I've given up on being articulate before I write about faith. Well, let's say I WANT to give up on being articulate. And being right, knowing what I'm talking about, giving accurate descriptions, knowing more verses, knowing more history, having an Effect, growing a thicker skin, all that stuff. I want to write about it more, and if I wait until I am and have all those things, I'll never write anything.