Gratitude Week Two: Karen

I’m going to start by giving a big shout out to my baby sister who while driving the two of us to the post office encountered a group of middle aged women standing obstructively in the middle of the street and shouted “This is the most Karen thing I have ever seen!”

The window was open.

And then I made eye contact with a woman I am trying to get a job from.

She was standing obnoxiously in the middle of our suburban street, but that Karen’s got power.

Big sarcastic thanks to the sis.

Middle aged women have been catching a lot of heat lately (maybe because they believe that cars are not a threat anymore) and I’m not saying I disagree with the complaints, but I am saying that there are a couple Karens who are keeping me together.

The insecurity I feel when a man who is about four seniority levels above me tells me what I am doing is wrong is profound. Even though I know the science, even though I have read and memorized the policy, I am reduced to an expendable puddle of incompetence under the unfair scrutiny of the boss.

And then I see Karen, behind the reception desk rolling her eyes and shaking her head. I see her after the boss has left breaking the poorly reasoned policy he just randomly announced.

Then I hear another Karen telling me how she innocently asked a clarifying question in the presence of his superior to get a policy overturned.

Still another warning me about his vigilant monitoring today.

And another muttering a sweet song which is subtly undermining but only if you notice her.

It is by the actions of the Karens, the unassuming middle aged women, who nurture the insecure new grad through rebellion and disobedience.

The ones who turned insecure into cheerfully obstinate.

I am grateful for the Karens.

The Boring Writings of Saint Justin Martyr

I’m trying to be a better girlfriend.

So when J. asked me to read one of the office readings from the Liturgy of the Hours I did not roll my eyes and I actually read it. Like a champion.

Keeping score in a relationship is highly discouraged so I didn’t rack up what should have been at least 25 points.

In the reading, Justin Martyr informed me that Christians gathered on Sundays. He explains that they read the Gospels and a leader encourages them to virtue and then prayers and thanksgiving is given and the people say Amen and receive the Eucharist and offerings are made for the poor.

Boring.

This is all extremely normal. There is no novelty in this reading.

This is what I do on Sundays. It is about as interesting as reading about the sequence by which I wake up, get dressed, brush my teeth and then make eggs.

Except for the fact that it was written in the second century.

Christians were praying and worshiping in the same way that I am. That before the internet, the printing press and the English language itself, this rite was practiced by the people who knew the sound of Jesus’ voice, how tall He was and the texture of His hair.

It is all at once profound and exciting and completely ordinary.

It’s like falling in love.

Your life will never be the same. You will never be the same. You will cease to be amazed when your beloved punctuates his conversations with the most profound and simple words in the English language: I love you and your life will always be measured by before you fell in love and after.

We measure time with before and after Christ but our knees are not always inclined to bend at the profundity of His name.

As I read and contemplated the ancient Saint’s words I was struck by how the best things in life are the regular routine occurances and the rites of passage which knit humanity together.

I am overwhelmed by what a blessing it is that the the news reports only the bad stuff because new life, falling in love and Jesus becoming flesh in our Churches is routine.

It would make for terrible ratings to report on the most profound, the beautiful, because the greatest, most life changing blessings are given routinely and abundantly.

Because love is routine.

And that is the best thing about it.

Normal is Not for Christians

I’m talking about families here, people.

Those of us that have the privilege to safely wait out the Corona have maybe had one or two homicidal thoughts towards the people we love the most.

Of course, I would never actually poison them, that is why I make sarcastic comments and roll my eyes.

You see, this is normal.

It is normal for the Boomers to blatantly reject emotion and insist that hard work will cure my grief. It is normal for me to assume the moral high ground and scoff at their low emotional intelligence. It is normal for us to be terrible listeners because we have heard this story and subsequent complaint roughly 8 thousand times.

And you know what? Normal relationships are not for Christians.

Statistically, divorce is normal, pre-marital sex is normal, porn is normal, abortion is normal and so is the general maltreatment of women.

Christians have no problem mounting the high horse and pointing out the splinters in “today’s society.” No sir, normal, is not good enough for us.

Good.

Now, about that beam.

Christian relationships cannot just be without the aforementioned sins. They have to involve virtue and sacrifice, biting our tongues and keeping our eye rolls in check.

Dismissing the imperfections that are bubbling up in our relationships as “normal family stuff” and “just human” is a rejection of an opportunity to grow in love.

So don’t say that.

Grow.

Protecting Thomas

It might be my professional training, or maybe the resonance of the story, but I have a subtle sense dissatisfaction with the “doubting Thomas” story.

The story I heard in CCD was pretty one dimensional. “Thomas doubted Jesus. Don’t doubt Jesus.”

Everyone I know in the world doubts Jesus.

A binomial understanding of doubt is not representative of my experience as a Christian and I assume the same is true for Thomas.

He was still with the apostles. He still defined his identity as a member of the group who defined themselves by Christ. He did not reject all of Christ when he rejected the resurrection. In the Bible I’m reading, Thomas still looks like a Christian from the outside even if his heart cannot accept the Living Christ.

The minister-therapist in me wants to know why.

Because I don’t think Thomas doubted out of a lack of an intellectual belief. Eleven witnesses is enough to convince even the greatest cynic.

Still, he refused to believe.

because of fear.

Thomas had seen his Lord his friend his hope fail. Everything that he staked his life on had disappointed him. If he believed in the resurrection if he rejoiced, he risked it all being taken away from him again.

The researcher and author Brene Brown asserts that joy is one of the most vulnerable emotions. Many of us experience a sense of foreboding joy:

I am so blessed too have my grandparents… it will be so hard to lose them.

I love Sunday brunch with my friends in the college cafeteria… we only have two more before we graduate.

I love my sister… I hope nothing happens to her.

We shackle our own joy to hypothetical suffering and do not allow ourselves the freedom to rejoice. We are waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I imagine Thomas wide-eyed watching the Lord enter Jerusalem and realizing that Jesus was the messiah. Perhaps, his doubts evaporated and he was finally able to rejoice for love of his friend in the hope of salvation.

He unshackled his joy.

But within the week, he was crushed.

He resolved never to hope or rejoice again. His friend was naked and murdered… and so was his hope.

Still, in that same week, his friends urge him to rejoice. Perhaps, because they can’t handle the trauma. They say Jesus had risen from the dead but there was not way the shackled of joy could ever be released for Thomas. The chains were greater than ever and he was weak with grief.

He recalls what they did to his friend,

“Until I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger into the nailmarks and put my hand into his side, I will not believe.”

Jn 20:25

Because I can’t believe, because I can’t hope again, and because I am so broken by this loss, I am too afraid of my heart breaking to believe in the resurrection. Because this joy might be taken from me and I can’t go through it again. I’m scared.

And a week later, Jesus greets him and commands him to quiet his pounding, aching, fearful heart and says,

“Peace be with you”

Jn 20:26

Thomas, do not be afraid to break your heart! See how mine was broken for you?

“Put your finger here and see my hands, and bring your hand and put it into my side, and do not be unbelieving but believe.”

Jn 20:27

Blessed are we who have not seen but believe.

We who have hope and rejoice despite the vulnerability of our flesh and our hearts.

Blessed are we who quiet our hearts and do not fear what love demands: the capacity for heartbreak and loss.

Blessed are we who believe in love.

Blessed are we who believe that love is strong enough to raise the dead.

May Christ break the shackles on our joy and bring us peace.

The Creativity Leech: Screen Time Rant I

Books are Frisbees

and planes,

and birds,

and trays for playing restaurant

and weapons

and building material for my fort

or a hat on silly days.

The best thing about kids is that they’re not boring adults. A book can be anything but literature. The neuroconnections built by this fun are the creative ones which paint the sun purple and make the salt shaker talk at dinner.

Children do not live in the adult world anything is an animated character and the weather is the backdrop to a grand adventure. Play allows entry into a world where “How about we are dogs that can fly, I’ll be the blue one” is a completely appropriate suggestion.

This is so so good.

Hand a child a pile of anything and they can find hundreds of things to do with it. Our ability to think creatively like this tapers off as we age; which is probably good because I do not want my surgeon pretending that my gall bladder is like a super hero grape or something.

A child cannot play within the confines of adult rules. They cannot fully embrace the potential of their minds if the only thing they are allowed to do with books is read.

What if we hijack their minds? What if we curb all of those potential trains of thought down and only allow the “right” one?

Apps are programmed by adults and they only allow the “right” train of thought.

A book is a book.

You read it.

You start at the beginning and end at the end.

Maybe if you tap Curious George he will get a banana, but the grass will never reach and take the yellow fruit, because, you see, the grass is grass.

The book on your iPad does not exist within the physical world with the child so the child does not have the same experience of the weight and gravity that forms what the world is. But, the real tragedy is the impoverished experience of what the world could be.

Maybe the flying blue dog that rides a scooter onto a purple sun asks whether or not he can use a camera, the thing that he has only ever used to snap photos of his nephew to take my grandma’s gall bladder out and she gets better and makes her same quasi-judgmental comments about the people on television with purple hair and we all smile.

Books are frisbees and cameras are surgical tools and this is the beauty of the robust neuroconnections formed by silliness that we call creativity.

Failing Lent

I do not want to hear anyone say “I failed Lent” one more damned time.

Oh, you didn’t keep your commitment to minimize Netflix? Well guess what, Karen!? You don’t need me to tell you that the GLOBAL PANDEMIC presented some unprecedented circumstances.

Lent has one purpose. It is to get you closer to Christ through penance.

None of us are short on penance.

In fact, if you are anything like me, you may have noticed some areas where you have an opportunity to grow in virtue.

Let’s say, for example, you have not left your house in a couple of weeks and your are feeling particularly down in the dumps on a rainy Friday. You may smell the sweet, sweet smell of pizza baking in the oven.

You bounce into the kitchen ready to drown your sorrow in cheese only to see the ugliest “food” you have ever seen. Maybe this “pizza” had weird black things your mom claimed were “sun dried tomatoes”  and maybe the onion to everything else ratio was 1:1.

Perhaps you realized half way through the eating of the “pizza” that what little sauce their was came from a tin can which had been refrigerated for a week and a half following a power struggle between your mother and sister.

And maybe you can’t even get an alternative meal because your family is mostly a bunch of ravenous carnivores and all that’s in the fridge is meat and its Friday in Lent and you’re trying to get through JUST ONE WEEK without breaking that simple rule.

Now, you could refer to this as the “Botulism Pizza” incident loudly on the phone with your friends for the next two hours or you could thank your mom and offer up your hunger and stomach pain for everyone who is suffering in the world right now.

One choice builds up the body of Christ and the other is hilarious but not actually helpful or sanctifying. I chose the latter.

Maybe, during Holy week, I choose to grow in virtue amid the challenges I face and I stop trying to white knuckle my way through giving up dessert.

What if I realize what is actually important?

It’s important to love my family as they are instead of loving who I want them to be: people who care about the flavor of food and whether or not its poisonous.

It’s important to lean into my mortality in spite of the crippling fear that in a month, I might be mourning some of the most important people in my life.

It’s important to realize how far I have to go before I actually trust God enough to believe in heaven

It’s important to say yes to this invitation to change into someone who might be recognized as a Saint.

Life Didn’t Get in the Way

The Characters: Me, an overly analytical college student prone to getting annoyed at the philosophical foundations of everyday phrases, a professor and a collection of apathetic upper classmen.

The Setting: A professor explaining the syllabus and his late policy.

Professor: These are the due dates blah blah blah, but sometimes life gets in the way so my email is on the front blah blah blah

Me: externally calmly writes something down in her planner but internally is ready to flip a table

Why? Because life does not “get in the way.” There is so much wrong with this worldview.

Dear internet, allow me to grace you with a play by play of how life “got in my way” this week.

I am not proud of this, but I have spent several hours talking about boys. Well not boys in the plural, boy in the singular. Does he like me? If he does, does he want to be in a relationship with me? How come he likes me enough to blah but never responded to what I thought was a hilarious text? Am I too invested (yes)? Am I too clingy? Not clingy enough? Cold?

Yeah, I get it, I am fitting every single female stereotype right now but I couldn’t care less. This is my lived experience. I am a woman who desires to love and to be loved and that is at the core of who I am. At this stage of my life, this is how that desire is manifesting itself. My desire and pursuit of love requires late night discussions with my roommate, the confidence of my best friend and the giddiness of my sister. It also means that sometimes my mind wanders while I am reading Camus and my late night chats supersede my study of German. Life got in the way.

And last night, I did not go to bed at a reasonable hour because I was on the phone with my mom discussing my grandmother’s deteriorating condition. We talked about covers and mobility devices and what a surreal experience it is to entertain hollowness where personality once resided. News of Grandma’s health caused my reminiscence of the phone calls I will never have again and the steely reality of the fact that in a few short decades, I will have to make decisions about my own parents. I stayed up talking with my roommate until she fell asleep and then some more as I contemplated how hard this existential experience must be for those who do not know the Gospel. I slept in late and did not get ahead on my professional development plan as I had anticipated. Life got in the way.

Today, I have written I think this makes four drafts of blog posts because in the wake of my existential contemplation, I have thoughts oozing out of me. I need an outlet and I need to put things into language. Life is getting in the way of my studies.

I had hoped I would be further ahead in writing this but I sat with a friend for an hour over lunch which was far longer than I needed. Life is in my way.

In the way of what? Me memorizing German numbers or reading a passage of Camus that will still be there tomorrow? Of getting more and more ahead? Of being the best? If my active participation in life is the cost of a 4.0, I will not make that purchase.

Give me life and desire and love and suffering and communion and abandon my textbooks to when I have time. Give me a life so rich in experience that a vocabulary list is abandoned to its rightful place.

Photo by Josh Felise on Unsplash

The Ache of Adam

Well folks, it finally happened. My very last single friend met someone who could potentially be the man of her dreams. I am so authentically joyful and happy for her. My heart overflows with joy like a plate at a Chinese Buffet, but the side dish is that weird, gross toothpaste dessert thing called loneliness.

This frustrates me. I desperately want to feel only this second-hand happiness and yet I am sitting here fighting back tears because I can’t ignore the elephant in the room. I am still alone.

I want to be one of those emancipated women who doesn’t need a man to be happy with her life. I think in most ways, I am. I do cool things, I hike mountains, I have a black belt, I research, I read heavy books, I am constantly searching out the next adventure.  I love my job so much. I have friends who love me and a family that cares. My life is fulfilling and wonderful and yet I am sitting here sad because my fulfilling life has a deep, echoe-y emptiness that refuses to be ignored.

Now everyone who reads this will feel pity and say, “God is preparing something amazing for you.” “You just have to trust God, it will all work out.” “Use this as an opportunity to grow in holiness.” Great. Thanks. I really appreciate these reassurances, I do. I value the love that these reassurances carry. But please know, my pain is not evidence of a mistrust in God. I know He is doing amazing things for me and at this very minute His Spirit is doing things so grand I can’t even comprehend them. I trust Him. I stake my life on Him. But I still ache.

I know God has a plan for my life and I know that it is beautiful but let’s not forget that before the resurrection is the cross. I have to embrace the cross, carry it; not enjoy it. Being alone is hard and I don’t know if or when it will end.

Adam was in the Garden of Eden, he lived in total paradise with the Lord and he still felt that it was not complete. He looked to every creature to find his partner. This was okay. God allowed him to ache.

When I look at myself in comparison with the emancipated woman who is vibrant and growing and totally okay with her singleness, I feel pathetic. Why am I waiting and longing when I have such a beautiful and fulfilling life? The truth of the matter is, I am not in the Garden of Eden. I am not in total paradise and though I live in the light of a God who loves me, I am allowed to ache. I live the abounding joy of the resurrection; I cannot help but sing songs of praise! Alleluias jump from my lips alongside the psalms, begging God for things not realized.

This paradox is a sharp and difficult reality. Wouldn’t it be so much better if I could just trust God more and never again hear the echoes of the emptiness? It is not so simple. I have no control. It is God who wrote this desire on my heart. It is God who will fulfill it. I have no control.

I wish I could just say more prayers, read more scripture just spend a few more hours in front of the Blessed Sacrament and then I would be healed. But you see, it is not a wound. This season of singleness, it is painful, it is hard but it is not tragic. It is a door through which I enter into the totality of love, the pain and sacrifice as well as the triumph.

So please, don’t placate me. Don’t assume that my pain is a lack of trust in my Beloved. Don’t encourage me to be some globe trotting feminist. Let my heart ache for just a little while longer. God does.

All the Single Ladies (Want to Ban these 3 Phrases)

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not all about censorship or anything. I’m a huge fan of running my mouth and saying things a little too bluntly. That being said, there are some phrases I would like to set on fire.

It would be so beautiful.  I can see it now, I am chuckling to myself as the flames engulf the contours of the letters, slowly turning them to ash, relishing the fact that never again would these phonemic combinations rest on my ears.

Plus I could make s’mores.

Without further ado, the phrases I (and all single women, I presume) would like to ban are:

1.”It’ll be interesting to see who you end up with”

I don’t know, maybe you mean to say “You are so awesome that I can’t even imagine someone worthy enough to share in your awesomeness.” If that’s what you mean, then thank you and next time use other words, because when you use the gag-inducing phrase transcribed above, all I hear is “Wow, you are such a weirdo I can’t imagine what kind of lunatic would want to be around your chaos forever.”

You know what I have to say to that?

I can’t imagine that kind of lunatic either, but it would be nice if you didn’t say so.

2. “Don’t worry, you’re still young, you have time”

Maybe this one wouldn’t stress me out so much if it wasn’t what my friends say after I’ve procrastinated. “Don’t worry, you still have an hour, you have time. It does not matter that it normally takes you six hours on this type of assignment. You’ll be fine. And if not you can always get cats.”

Maybe that cat suggestion was about relationships, not lab reports. I don’t remember.

I know that I’m young, I can feel my wisdom teeth still trying to break out of the prison that is my youthful maxilla. Your comment, however, reminds me that every day I spend reading books and hanging out with “just” friends is 24 hours closer to my eggs’ expiration date.

The waiting room that is my ovaries will soon need a fresh coat of paint and new magazine subscriptions. Oh the humanity!

3. “You should get a boyfriend”

And you should get some manners.

I’m not sure when we decided that this kind of nonsense was appropriate in adult conversation but it needs to stop. I’m not exactly turning away my suitors here.

Honestly, if anyone could explain to me how I would casually go about doing this, that would be great because as far as I know, amazon.com does not have a boyfriend section (at least not yet, amazon already offers every other service.)

And listen here, the implication that you know exactly what I should and should not be doing is pretty presumptuous on your part. Maybe instead of getting one of the compassionate, attractive, eligible men you think are roaming around pining for me, God is calling me to join the circus. In which case, I should not be getting a boyfriend because Water for Elephants has led me to believe that I’m obviously just going to marry the vet.