Remembering Jack

From a school in Copper Valley, to a legacy of thousands.

As the story goes a group of Jesuits and some of their Sister friends went to Copper Valley to open a school for Native Alaskan children.

60 years later the legacy continues to make a world of difference.

One of the Jesuits from that Copper Valley School decided to walk to Bethlehem in the name of peace.

He and his fellow pilgrims arrived in Jesus’ birthplace on Christmas Eve, or so the legend goes.

(Did you think I meant the Bethlehem, Pennsylvania? So do most people when they hear this story)

That same Jesuit joined me in a buffet line one spring in Seattle and invited me (and my community) to a meal at the local Jesuit residence.

Just like people do every day, except this was only the 2nd time I’ve crossed paths with this Jesuit. Typically, this kind of gesture, although nice, would seem odd to me.

Except for the fact that this Jesuit seemed to possess a level of generosity and kindness of spirit that I hadn’t encountered before, and haven’t since. I knew he meant it.

This kind Jesuit with a boundless spirit and unforgettable sense of humor has touched many, a goal many reach for but very few achieve.

People thought he was nuts. I’m sure there were times he though his own ideas were nuts too. But he went for them anyway.

I laugh to myself whenever I wonder if I’m about to embark on something people think is nuts. Jack would probably be one of those people too, the only difference is, He’d tell you you’re nuts with a smile on his face, then tell you to go for it.

What the Lord can do with a restless spirit is truly amazing, and only something the Lord can do.

I have been truly blessed by his example.

fr-jack-greeting-card

Father Jack Morris S.J.
1927-2012

“Our human task, if you like, is to not flee from the ill-being but to transform it.”
–Jack Morris, June 2012

*A similar version of this post was written on September 28, 2016

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Grad School: The Last Summer

This summer was bananas, all kinds of emotions going full throttle bananas.

I can’t believe I’m actually writing about this.

I learned during my first summer than students often mark their time by summers, and there’s a certain satisfaction that comes with saying “this is my last summer.”

I’ve watched many of my classmates go through their last summer, each has been different, each having their own positives and negatives. I knew what I wanted to do and what not to do. I wanted to end on a good note and have the best experience possible.

I even consulted people and made a plan to have a full yet enjoyable summer.

Very little of the plan went according to plan, as is usually the case.

This summer went much like last summer in the respect that a lot of my classmates and I had the same classes so we spent plenty of time together over a short period of time (although not really because we started courses around the same time).

One thing people get wrong about distance learning is that it’s isolating. Yes, there is an element of that but, if it’s a small program you’re anything but isolated. In fact, I think there was only one person I didn’t know before class began (and I kept referring to her as “the new person” which is completely false in terms of remaining course load).

The first week was fairly relaxed, compared to previous years, it was the only time I didn’t have a morning class. A luxury I had been wanting for years but the opportunity never came about & I chose to forgo the meal plan again so while people were down at breakfast and/or hurrying off to class I was still in bed indulging in well overdue Netfl!x binging.

And by noon I was bored out of my skull.

I took care of a few things, like tuition, scholarship requirements, etc. It was nice to get all of it out of the way but it didn’t take very long so it was shaping up to be a long week and it was only day one.

I did the majority of my course work before arriving and my first presentation wasn’t until the end of the week so I was able to watch everyone’s and make adjustments (and practice, over and over).

If you follow me on Inst@gram you saw how much detail I put into my presentation, although it may have come off fairly low-key.

The week closed well but I couldn’t help but keep thinking about my presentation. It could have been better, I think, so there was plenty of work to do before I turned in the final project (hell there’s still a lot to do & grades are in).

The weekend was pretty low key considering how much work lay ahead. I think what helped was the fact that we were all in the same boat so if someone was struggling (which I was, I just didn’t know it) there were other people to pick you up (and in my case 3 or 4, I can’t remember).

Pro tip: Make friends with someone who can pack anything (& nearly everything) in a suitcase without

Because my presentations (or really practicum requirements) were scheduled for the beginning of the week it meant that I had a lot to do in the span of less than a week. I wasn’t a big fan but at the same time I liked the idea of being done on Tuesday, because the 2nd week of classes came with a mandatory early wake up & Theological Reflection at night.

This summer was unlike any of my previous summers for many reasons but mainly because there were many group activities outside of class. Meals, for the most part, were together. We saw more of the outside world, together. Whenever someone was going to do something they asked who wanted to come along. In one way, it was how we made the most of our final time together.

This was the summer I couldn’t wait to have, my “final summer.”  It’s something that gets hyped up in one way or another by everyone, even yourself. There are certain rites of passage that you don’t get to have until that “final summer.” What often gets overlooked as the emotions that come along with it, at least for me.

While I’m not done with school yet the experience is certainly coming to a close. The blessings have been given the good byes (even if just temporary) have been said.

It’s time for a new group to start their countdown to their own last summer.

Free The Feet (part II)

I’ve readjusted to life with an AFO, I guess. I’ve found a few positives to it too. Like having “walking shoes” and “sitting shoes.”

It may seem like every shoe loves dream but it took a little accepting from me. I hate having shoes everywhere so the fewer shoes to have around the better.

When my friend was ordained a few months ago I knew I needed to buy shoes, because I literally had nothing (and when a friend is getting ordained you make exceptions for them).

I found a pair of shoes I actual liked and didn’t worry about whether or not I could balance in them. I just made sure they fit my feet and I could get them off quickly if I did have to get someone in the event of an emergency.

They aren’t the perfect fit but they did the job and with any luck they’ll continue to do the job on future occasions (which is another requirement for me when it comes to footwear).

A common topic you’ll find around the internet is CP & footwear; in fact, there are blog devoted to it.

There are many other factors to consider besides, “do they have my size?” or “these are a nice color.”

In fact, those are often the two things at the bottom of the list of requirements.

Can I afford to buy two pairs of shoes? (Because sometimes bracing requires a bigger shoe, or your feet are literally 2 different sizes).

Can I manage to fit into one pair of shoes? (See above reasoning)

Can I modify them as much (or as little) as I need to without extra cost?

Can they last me more than 5 minutes?

Can I walk in them comfortably?

Can bracing fit in them without much added time or damage?

Can I wear them safely without added support? (Because sneakers aren’t exactly dress wear)

Do they have any potential for creating pressure wounds?

And on and on, and on……

While I may never have a “Cinderella moment” with any form of footwear I’ve learned to appreciate the “little victories” when I can get them.

“She’s A Really Good Swimmer” Redemption

When I first told you about my time on the swim team, or rather clear lack thereof, I felt like something was missing. Although I made my point, or at least I believe I did, I was left with negative feelings.

I need to make something clear to you.

I know I’m a good swimmer. I haven’t hit the pool in some time & I probably won’t ever be able to call myself an Olympian (or Paralympian). Regardless, I’m a swimmer.

My father is an Eagle Scout & being his only child scouting was a nonnegotiable. A good portion of your camp day involves water safety also known as swim lessons (grouped with the help of the Red Cr0ss). My 2nd year of camp I was in the “swimmers” unit. The unit that got more pool time in order to put on a water show at the end of the session. It was pretty awesome being able to have such likeminded friends. Plus I really progressed as a swimmer

My next year at camp I chose a different unit & was actually pretty excited about it, until the first day of camp came around & all of my friends from my old unit were in another unit, together. I figured I’d get use to it & see them quite frequently, until I found out where our units were located.

The next day I asked to switch units. It was pretty obvious that I wanted to be with my friends. Everyone in the office knew it, including the camp nurse (a friend’s mom) who probably told everyone before I arrived with my request. However, “I want to be with ALL of my friends” does not count as a legitimate reason. So, I came up with another reason.

“The unit I’m in is so far from the flagpole”
(Which is considered the center of camp)

It wasn’t the most far-fetched reason. My unit was in the furthest possible location, from everything. A portion of camp is located on a mountain, which is where my unit was. It wasn’t that bad really. I had been to that unit location before, years before when I was younger than & not as able as I was making my case. But no one who could O.K. my unit switch knew that.

I used my disability to my advantage. I admit it. But it was one of those times when a girl just needs to pull out the heavy artillery.

I moved to my “new” unit the next day.

We weren’t “the swimmers” unit our second year together but we were very much the same unit, except that our assistant leader was now our leader, and we now had an overlook to our old unit location, and there were maybe 3 new girls.

Typically, each year someone attends camp they have the opportunity to take the swim test to move up to the next level. I was “still” at level 3 at the beginning of my third year (I had started at 2, like most). No one had approached me to test at the end of the previous year so I took matters into my own hands & asked to take the level 4 test.

I had even asked my friend, whose mom was the nurse, if she thought I could pass the test, since she was the best swimmer in camp (councilors, lifeguards & her own mother included). I knew I could pass the test, but assurance is always nice. I was so sure I would pass I threw my swim cap into the trash. I was getting that yellow cap.

The next day I jumped in the pool with the level 4 group. Something just didn’t feel right to me, but I gave it my all hoping what I was feeling didn’t show.

It turned out the night before they changed the chemicals they used to treat the pool and I had a small leak in my goggles, which didn’t help matters.

I was handed a new white cap and told to go back to the level 3 group the next day; on top of an eye infection that developed the next day from the change in chlorine.

It felt like the first day of camp all over again, the day everyone gets checked for lice.

I didn’t understand it. I was ready. I was willing to work hard. Most importantly, I was able.

The only comfort I had in this situation, if you can call it that, was that my friends felt the same way. They knew I didn’t belong where I was. In fact they encouraged me to ask to take the test again at the end of camp, if I wasn’t offered the opportunity.

During the last days of camp, it was announced that there would be camp Olympics (since it was an Olympic year) and many events were to take place at the pool. The former “swimmers” unit was ready for it all.

Someone suggested I be on the relay team.

Me? The girl who less than 2 weeks before failed her swim test. Swim the relay?

I (unknowingly) achieved the dream for every special needs/disability parent out there.

”Her first year of swim team, I think she was an inspiration to her teammates. The past two years, though – and especially this year – I think she’s just another kid to most of them”

I agreed, and swam the first leg. I didn’t want to be the reason for our unit to lose. I’m also no idiot. Everyone knows swimming the anchor leg is an honor, one reserved for your best swimmer.

We weren’t the runaway winners at the “swimlympics” that year, but we put on a good fight when we needed to. I don’t even remember how we placed. What I do remember was that we had the best show of unit pride and teamwork at the pool.

I never officially “made” the swim team (or officially got that yellow cap) but the Pips girls were my team when I needed one.

(I still wish I could make that coach eat his words though)

*A similar version of this post was written on August 28, 2012

Why I: Joined A Discernment Group

Ten years ago I was looking to make a fresh start after a near crash and burn of my academic career & a list of personal issues. (Side note: The fact that I started college more than a decade ago makes me feel kind of old.)

Here’s what’s awesome about going to a university with an active campus ministry:

There’s always something going on.

It’s almost kind of ridiculous how much stuff you can be involved in (or not).

At the time I wasn’t a practicing Catholic, in fact I was still in the recovery from Atheism phase of things, because that kind of journey practically requires a recovery period. I called myself a Christian but I wasn’t ready to “drink the Catholic k00l aid” just yet.

I steered clear of any organized group outside of the theatre department my freshman year and I was reconsidering that plan for sophomore year. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results, so I didn’t want to do the same thing.

There are always plenty of things to do in a theatre/drama department as well. There are always “other duties as assigned” (to put it one way) or a friend is working on some sort of project at all hours so if you want to see them it’s best to go to them (and then you end up helping on the same project, somehow). But I didn’t want to be a “drama kid,” at least not exclusively.

At some point during orientation, sometime after neighborhood orientation, I huddled into the campus ministry office with other new students to hear their “sales pitch”. This was some place I wanted to be involved. I knew that from visiting a friend earlier in the year. The how was the part that needed to be determined.

I’m not a try everything once type of girl but that’s pretty much what ended up happening. The first few weeks the only thing I had second thoughts on was solemn adoration; anything labeled solemn or somber means I’ll laugh uncontrollably. I needed to be better versed at adoration before the sound was turned off.

The first group I showed up for (I think) was women’s group. I loved that group. In fact many of the ladies I met thanks to that group I’m still friends with today (maybe I’ll tell you about that someday).

The next night discernment group would be meeting. I had no idea what “discernment” was but I figured it would be similar to women’s group so I showed up.

I probably should’ve looked up what discernment was before I decided to go to the group. But if I did I probably wouldn’t have gone.

Instead of sitting in the lounge area we met in the prayer room. And instead of one of the campus ministers facilitating there were two nuns, from The Little Sisters of the Poor (an order I knew nothing about, but have come to love dearly).

At some point during the hour I realized I was in a room full of ladies who were considering becoming nuns. I was in the wrong place, but I didn’t want to get up and leave (for fear of embarrassment only).

I may have countless sisters these days, but back then I had only known two, and the impression they left wasn’t one of full warm & fuzzy memories.

I left that night thinking I probably wouldn’t go back (because I wasn’t even in the same hemisphere of that life path) but when Thursday rolled around again I did. I’m still not sure why. The funny thing is I kept going. I think I only missed a few meetings during the year, when being a drama kid had to take a front seat.

I even went the night when we’d be saying the Rosary most of the time. When I grasped even less of it than I do now & I had to borrow a Rosary from the spares that someone always seemed to have on hand.

For me it wasn’t about discernment, at least not at first, it was about meeting people who just might be like minded. When that didn’t work out so well it was about having concrete examples of what I might aspire to. Not to mention meeting some religious sisters who were not only nice, but they went out of their way to invest in others.

I will never ever forget that Sister Mary David told me it was perfectly fine to fall asleep during adoration “because the Lord knows you need your rest.”

Never mind that I had agreed to sit up with the blessed sacrament only to fall asleep face down on a futon that was in our makeshift retreat chapel.

My original intent couldn’t have been any more off. However I think I got a lot more out of it than I realize (yes, even now). I made a mistake in judgment but it was one of the best mistakes I could’ve ever made (especially given my history with mistakes).

Even if I have come to have a love/hate relationship with the discernment process.

*A similar version of this post was written on September 4, 2013

Do You Want To Know A Secret?

So where was I?
Oh yeah, no one knows everything there is to know about me……

Shockingly I’m not shocked by this. You don’t accumulate close to (or over) 40 filled journals if you don’t have things you feel that you need to keep to yourself. I’ve never gone back and reread anything I’ve written in a journal. I have no desire to do so either. I’m almost positive there’s very little worth saving in any of them. I might have one journal’s worth of insights worth saving to reflect on at a later date. So why don’t I just throw them all out? Good question. The answer is I just can’t throw them out. It would free up a whole area in my already small closet but I just can’t throw them out. I feel sorry for the person who has to deal with all of them when I die. Out of respect for whoever that person might end up being I’ve come close to throwing a few of them out. But then I have a thought, throwing them out would be like ditching a friend.

When I can’t say it at least I can write it.
I can’t let that go that easily.

Most people would consider me a talker. O.K. EVERYONE who’s ever known me would call me a talker. It’s not something I’m really proud of believe it our not. Especially when someone says, “WOW you can talk a lot.” (By the way thanks to Bill for being the last person to point that out. I hate you and your stupid chicken hearts.) There’s a good reason why I’m “such a talker.”

It’s a major defense mechanism for me.
I’m sure you’ve heard, at least once, that talkers really have a lot to hide, although I prefer to say keep to myself. This is extremely true for me; especially with people I don’t know or feel I don’t know well. If I talk first, and keep talking you won’t have the chance to ask me anything too personal. You’d think it would be a good plan if you were the one doing the talking but honestly, I get to a point where I wish I would shut up. Yet I rarely will.

During my week in Portland I was mistaken as a major extravert, by several people. I had to laugh, to myself of course, when I heard this. No one knew that I sat in silence for almost a week before hand to prep myself for orientation. Very few people noticed that by Wednesday I keep finding ways to go back to my cabin just to have some quiet time. No one knows that I spent most of the trip to Spokane, which included a rather long detour, sleeping, or rather recovering from such a taxing week.

My “extroversion” is just covering up how introverted I am.

I come from a big family. (S)he who yells loudest might be heard. We have 6 different conversations with 6 people sitting at the table. Everyone easily goes into their own world while becoming part of other people’s worlds. We can have 6 conversations while playing a board game together, with one of us talking on the phone to someone else, while eating lunch, while swapping goods and discussing the remodeled bathroom. It really is a fun family dynamic, even if it does make an outsider want to run for the hills.
I have so much fun with my family sometimes that I do wish I could do it every day. Then I remember….
They exhaust the hell out of me.

I didn’t want to go to my prom. I wouldn’t have if certain people didn’t drag me. I did have a good time but I would’ve been just as happy sitting at home.

I went to the charity ball once in college, for all of the same reasons as my one middle school dance. I had a much better time than I did at the prom. Of course, appointing myself event photographer for my group certainly helped. It was one of the only times in recent memory that I didn’t think, “I could have just as much fun by myself.”

I went to only one dance in middle school. I only want because I thought I might regret not trying it at least once. I hated it. Going to the diner after was fun but I could’ve had the same meal any other day at the same diner. In fact, I have and had a much better time than I did after the dance.

Yes, I realize I just gave 3 very similar examples but not much differs in different situations. My point is I prefer to be around people I know. A small group of people I know. I knew most of the people at the charity ball and would call them friends (unlike the other 2 examples) but I still stayed with the group I arrived with. Small groups work best for me with people I know.

What about group projects you ask? No matter if I know my group members or not my philosophy is pretty much as follows, get out of my way, leave me alone, when I want or need any other input I’ll ask. Most importantly let me do the work I need to do,

I’m pretty sure if I didn’t think about the possibility of regretting something later on I’d never leave the house. I know if my desire to see different places wasn’t as strong as it is I would never leave.
But I wasn’t always this way.
So what changed?
I’m not really sure however the fact hadn’t changed that I’ve gone from being O.K. socially, maybe not perfect but I could get by, to being one step away from desiring to be a hermit.

Yes, the life of a hermit does have a certain appeal to me.

Everyone has secrets and things they want to keep to themselves. But there’s a group of people who let their secrets become bigger things. They let them grow into walls.

I’m one of those people that let their secrets become walls.
The walls became a fortress.
The fortress became the only place I can really be me.
But the fortress has a moat.
The moat doesn’t allow anyone else in, as reinforcement.
But here’s the thing about my fortress……
I want other people to know who I really am.
Too many people have let me down for me to do that easily.
If you hang in there you’ll see who I really am.
Hang around long enough to prove to me my walls can crumble.
You just might like who I really am, even more than you like who you think I am.

*A similar version of this post first appeared on an old blog on October 28, 2008

Do You Want To Know A Secret?

I took part in a 9 month SEEL program (Spiritual Exercises in Everyday Life). I wasn’t too sure about it at first. It sounded like a good idea but a commitment I doubted I could or would keep up. My roommates had committed to it so I did to, going against my many reservations.

One of the SEEL requirements was to meet with a spiritual director once a week. As much as I’d been interested in spiritual direction and had come close to organizing it on a few occasions, this was the part of the program I was the weariest about. What would I talk about? Would I be comfortable in such a situation? Would I be able to keep the commitment? Would I be forced to keep it up even when I couldn’t? Would I be able to have a director who I didn’t already have a relationship with? The last question was the biggest one for me. It almost kept me from the retreat.

Almost.

Towards the end of the year I sat down with something on my mind that I didn’t know I had even been thinking about. As I often did after I got comfortable with the process and it’s just one of the things that just speaks to how great of a director I had.

I told her about an outing I had with my housemates and how angry it had left me. It wasn’t a huge event, in fact now I don’t even remember what it even was, it was just an activity that had quickly turned into community time, not hard to do with 4 people really. Whatever it was I do remember having fun at whatever it was, so did everyone else. But feelings of anger overrode the fun, especially after the fun was over. Don’t you just love how life works like that?

As I kept talking I started to realize how angry I really was about the whole situation. In fact the outing wasn’t very fun for me at all just stressful. I just pretended to be happy so I wouldn’t be the downer in the group. And true to form I got louder and louder, most people cry during spiritual direction, I get angry and talk through gritted teeth, yes, I did leave her office with a sore jaw on many occasions.

I realized I was angry because I had been living with these people for almost a year, yet I still had to explain to them what needed to happen so I could be part of the fun. I felt that I should have to explain myself to people I was supposed to be so close with after being together for so long. And, I thought, at that point, I didn’t need to anymore. That was a point of my anger, but it certainly didn’t end there

The truth is this wasn’t the first time, nor do I expect it to be the last, for something like this to happen. But there was one very distinct difference about this time.

My best friend wasn’t there.

Now I’m not saying she’s always been there when I’ve been in a tough spot and needed help. We do have our own lives. When I say, she wasn’t there I mean I couldn’t talk to her. Every time I’ve gotten angry about this before I’ve vented to her, immediately after, and she’d provide common sense to my mania. I was mad because no one seemed to care that I was “left behind” in some capacity. I know now, thanks to my director expecting the same results from my housemates, or just one of them was unfair. My best friend has watched (and helped me) adapt to my surroundings for years. So much so that it’s become second nature for her to make adaptations as well. The extra thoughts and explaining doesn’t have to be there. It’s one of the gifts of having begun your friendship at 5 years old. No matter how close I felt to my housemate’s time was not on our side. Expecting less than 12 months of friendship to have the equivalency of a friendship of almost 20 years was more than unfair. Naturally I see that now, given the time to reflect.

During a pause in my rant one sentence blows a hole in my brain. “They don’t get it and they never will.”

As much as I knew this was true I must’ve been in lifelong denial, until that day. Maybe I thought that I could change things, because I’M different. I can make people know things that others can’t. I’M ME.

Can’t I do the impossible?
No.
I’m not God.
I can not do the impossible.
At least not on my own.

I have to take a moment here and say that my spiritual director can speak to my hidden aggravation. She herself has a neurological disorder; she might say condition or even blessing, which people just don’t understand unless they have it themselves.

Once I shut up, with her assistance, she went to work. The grand sum of her wisdom was this,
“Stop trying to get people to understand what they aren’t going to. It’s not within their capabilities to understand anything. They have no idea what it’s like to be you for a day and how much more work it actually is. If they knew they’d be exhausted and wonder how you do it every day. Stop trying to get them to understand, because they just aren’t, and that’s just going to leave you angry, and you have no time for that.”

It wasn’t a long walk home after my session but I certainly did walk a little slower. I was also thankful for the fact that I had to walk home rather than drive. The walk had become so routine that I could get home with big things on my mind and have everything somewhat processed before I walked into the kitchen, depending on the speed I chose to talk of course.

I wouldn’t say that my session was some kind of breakthrough, although it did feel like it at the time, and somewhat heartbreaking as well. The shock and revelation was that someone, other than me, was able to put into words, and tell me, what I’ve felt to some degree for my entire life. Several family and friends will tell you I’ve always been articulate. However there are still lifelong thoughts I am still learning to articulate.
I’m pretty sure without that session I’d still be trying to articulate that particular thought.

Among friends I’ve been known for my boundaries, among other things too, I hope. Among family I’m known for my lack of. This I am more certain about than the previous statement since I get reprimanded for it often. As I’ve gotten older the word “boundaries” is being replaced with “walls” more often.

So, I start to think.
Is there a connection between my “walls” and my desire for people to just “get it?”
YES!

If that wasn’t a self-question to lead myself into denial than I need some help of the mental variety. Being that I was fresh of a spiritual awakening session I did myself a favor and cut the bull, or caught myself before I got too far into it.

I have so many “walls” which I will now refer to as a secret because in the most primitive parts in my brain I know people won’t understand. I keep secrets from everyone, friends, family, coworkers, my parents, even my best friend. Why? Because I know they just won’t get it. I know I won’t be able to stand explaining all the details so I keep most of them to myself. Life can get hard enough as is I don’t need to invite more mental stress into my life, which letting everything out will do.

Everyone feels the need to belong to something somewhere, and often with someone by their side. My reality is I need to make a place for myself to belong rather than put myself into an established group. I don’t belong (strictly speaking) in normal society because I have to deal with more than they do. I don’t belong with people “in my situation” because they do understand (to an extent) what I have to go through on a daily basis. The problem with my being with people “in my situation” (for me personally) is that things quickly become a one up contest. I express a problem. They relate and give it a twist. I try to make things clearer. Their interpretation with a twist follows that. The conversation can continue on like that for days. The problem with the little twists are that more often than not it’s “I have that too, but worse, listen to this….” It leaves me feeling guiltier for not making the best of the situation than feeling like I’ve been helped, supported, and more importantly, listened to.

There was a night in college that will always stick out to me. I had a rough day, for whatever reason, whatever it was it just pushed me over the edge. I’m a bottle it up and then explode kind of girl, in case you haven’t already picked that up. I was lying in bed crying when my roommate came home. Seeing me in obvious distress she dropped her stuff and got on the bed next to me. The end of the conversation came when she told me that maybe if I let people knew how I felt more often I wouldn’t end up feeling like I did at that moment (or any other moment like it before or after this one). I looked at her like she was clueless, because to me, in that moment she couldn’t be more so. “If you only knew…..” I thought. She meant well, and did help me out somewhat, but that didn’t lessen my urge to want to slam my head into the wall so hard that I’d end up in the apartment next to ours.

There have been times that I’ve let people know everything going through my head.
Not one of those people is my friend today. The minute I tell them everything, that they asked to know, I’d like to point out they turn tail and run. I can’t say I blame them but they did ask. You’d think they’d make an effort to hang around for a while. But if people did that divorce rates for people with disabilities or parents of children with disabilities wouldn’t be so high. It really does take a certain kind of person to hang around and they don’t hang around every street corner waiting for some who might need them.

I do try and make small efforts to let people in but the response it never what I thought it would be, even from people who said they’d like to just know what’s going on in my life. Typically, if I get anything in response to my “letting in” its anger or accusations of trying to get people’s attention or pity; in fact, I’ve gotten that so many times that it doesn’t even bother me anymore. If someone feels that way about my honesty than that’s their business not mine, all I have to do is live my life. The other most popular response I get from people is “I’m sorry.” More often than not it’s worse than getting people’s pity, although they have been known to walk hand in hand as well. However, “I’m sorry,” is worse than having to deal with people’s accusations.

What people don’t get is I don’t want “Sorry.” I don’t need “Sorry.” What I really need is your help. That’s what I really want to. If you can’t turn to your friends for help, then who are you supposed to turn to?

I was determined to think of one person who knew everything about me, not including myself of course, by the time I got back to the house. As I got closer I would walk slower and slower. It was taking me longer to think of someone than I thought it would.

There isn’t a single person on the planet who knows everything about me.

To be continued………

*A similar version of this post first appeared on an old blog on October 17, 2008

 

Sarah Leaves

I used to have a fairly regimented holiday season, and then things changed.

Taking the advice of a former coworker, when things changed that I couldn’t control I changed what I could control.

I leave.

As my mother keeps telling people “around the holidays Sarah leaves”.

As in claw around the holidays throw my stuff in a suitcase and hit the road, or sky, whatever fits.

In fact, I happen to be typing this while sitting in the back of an RV which sounds far more romantic than it actually is. Being a nomad, even temporally, isn’t for wimps.

Why do I hit the road? Because left to my own devices the holidays are filled with memories of traditions that lasted for decades.  I get out of my long time comfort zone of traditions by not acknowledging any, if I can help it.

Where do I go? Well that depends, it helps that my family has spread out in the last few years. It’s not nearly as expensive and much more relaxed.

If I can get a reasonably priced ticket and a place to crash I’m gone.

This new tradition of non-tradition helps in some ways but other aspects are more difficult.

There’s always lack of sleep to contend with but at the same time it allows me a better chance to think about other things rather than what’s still lodged in my brain. For example, it’s hard to get lost in grief when you’re trying to catch your next flight located across the terminal that’s scheduled to leave in less than an hour.

I don’t travel as much as I used to and truth be told I find it to be increasingly stressful but I do make these “pilgrimages” every year I’m able to.

I still get criticism from people for it but I don’t care.

My sanity must come first when I feel depleted or else I just spin within myself and it just gets ugly.

I don’t really leave. I retreat and recharge by changing my surroundings. I get out of my own head and in some cases out of my own way.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to take a break of some kind, before, after, or even during, the holidays. It’s overwhelming and overstimulating for a lot of people, self-included, naturally. However, it’s much more common to criticize those who acknowledge that they need a break. Someday it’ll be the other way around, as it should be.

Being 25 Years Old

25 years is a quarter of a century, which makes it seem like a long time.

In reality 25 years isn’t really that long of a time span.

I thought 25 would mean being an adult, until I was 25 and then I waited to feel like an adult. Now that I’m a few years past 25 I realize how far from being an adult 25 really is, for most people.

Within the context of organized religion 25 years is basically infantile.

Within the smaller context of religious orders 25 years is nearly unheard of.

I still remember when one of my closest friends told me she was entering a convent. I was still in shock when I started to tell people myself, which was probably spurred on by the shocked look I had on my face for God only knows how long.

People mainly wanted to know two things, how old she was and what order she was going to be a part of.

Naturally skepticism followed, because how many women in their early 20s join virtually unknown religious order?

sistersoflifeprofession

I, in a desperate attempt to be a good friend, felt the need to defend her choice, even while agreeing with everyone else.

Almost 10 years later I’ve gained more prospective on the situation.

I get “it” now, or at least as much as I can without joining the Sisters myself.

I especially have a greater appreciation for what it takes to create and more importantly sustain a ministry.

Happy 25th Birthday Sisters. May God continue to bless you all & those you serve for many more years to come.

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Why I: Don’t Suggest Giving Up Social Media For Lent

There are certain things I can count on as Lent approaches. Without a doubt, “What are you giving up for Lent?” is the most popular question to ask and/or be asked.

Now that social media has become such an important part of our lives it’s natural to consider whether or not to give it up for 40 days. I have several friends who engage in this practice, problem is most of them don’t use social media that much anyway. So is it really that sacrificial or are they really getting any benefit from it?

A point worth considering, but not the one I wanted to make right now.

As I write this there’s a snowstorm outside (I’m a write ahead & schedule blogging type). In fact at one point it was snowing so hard that it was snowing sideways. Thus my plans for the day have been canceled and I’m attempting to stay occupied indoors. In a way it’s going to make the point of this post much more poignant, at least I hope so.

The internet, and social media, has opened up everyone’s world. What I don’t think a lot of people realize is just how much it’s opened up the world for those with disabilities.

I wouldn’t be friends with many people if it weren’t for the internet, or at least I wouldn’t be as good of friends with people if things didn’t start on the internet. Let’s just say as an introvert with a disability it’s nice to get the “getting to know you” stuff out of the way when you only get to see people in person a few times in your entire life.

I can’t forget to mention Sara. If there’s anyone who taught me that just because you have physical limits doesn’t mean you can’t create solid friendships and an intentional community. Our friendship may have been short but it left me forever changed.

I don’t suggest giving up social media for Lent for one quasi-simple reason:

You may be part of someone’s community, and it may be the only community they have access to (especially in the winter months).

Giving up your social media routine for 40 days may seem like a good idea and in some ways it can be beneficial but if you do consider who you’ll be leaving behind for 40 days.

Here are some thoughts to consider:

How much can happen in 40 days?

Also consider your group of friends, do they also give something(s) up for Lent?

Do you all give up the same thing for Lent? If so, do you still have that same sense of community because you have other ways of keeping in contact or are you able to see each other in person?

Do you have one friend (or maybe more) that seems uncomfortable with your plan for a 40 day social media fast?

Have you ever stopped and really considered why someone is resistant to give up social media (especially if you “only” know them virtually)?

Lenten sacrifices are meant to make you a better person, but not at the expense of other people. If your sacrifice is harmful to someone else than are you really working towards a greater communion with the Body of Christ?

Alternatives to consider:

Cut back on your social media practices. Check in once a day or once a week.

Post the same thing on all of your social media accounts (idea borrowed from Pat Padley FYI).

Keep community connected through email or text, or an old fashioned phone call.

Make your intentions known early on, as in before today, so if any of your friends have reservations or objections you can engage in thoughtful conversation.

Have a way to contact you on your social media profiles and make it easy to find. Have you ever received an “out of office reply” with a contact email or number included? Like that.

I’m not saying that you absolutely shouldn’t give up social media for Lent.

I’m not God, Jesus, or the Holy Spirit so I can’t say such things with absolute conviction. But I wish people wouldn’t make the decision as easily as they seem to. Virtual community isn’t the same as in person community but it’s still a community that needs nurturing, attention, and people to take part in it.