The job posting for the Director of Youth and Young Adult Ministry position in the Archdiocese of Baltimore is up, and it sets me to dreaming... as a kid in youth ministry, with my newly-discovered call, I set my sights on eventually working at the diocesan level in my home state of Maine, where YM was progressive, professional, and devoted at that time. I don't know how things are there now, but I've always kept my eye on that office, because, hey- who knows? I feel quite sure that I'd never ever ever get a position at the A-Diocesan level here in Boston. I'll leave that at that. But Baltimore, lovely Baltimore... Scott and I have long looked at Baltimore as the promised land. They actually do stuff- a lot of great stuff! Recently they took a long hard look at the sacrament of Confirmation (something every diocese and YM office should be doing), for instance. They are taking a strong lead in the ultra-important area of adolescent catechesis. Oh, and Compass? So cool. If only Baltimore was in Boston. Sigh...
Still, it's tempting to imagine what I'd do in that position. I have been critical, I know, of the decisions made by our own office in the past few years, so I've spent some time with the question of "oh yeah? What would YOU do then?" And here's what I think I'd do, to start. I think I'd spend a year traveling around my new territory, meeting YM's and finding out what is going on in parishes. I'd read a LOT of bulletins, websites, parish reports, and I'd attend a LOT of YM events, both parish and diocesan. I'd serve on the teams of diocesan activities, as retreat team member, as kitchen crew, as small group leader, as grunt-person. I'd be doing lots of setting up and cleaning up, and I'd attend so many meetings it would make the average person's head spin. I'd ask everyone a lot of questions about how things have gone, how things are going, and how things could/should go in the future. I'd have a lot of dinners, lunches, and coffees with a lot of pastors and YM Coordinators. And I'd do a lot of praying and faith sharing with diocesan staff.
And after all that, I'd get down to work, having identified the mission of the office, and getting people on board with working toward that mission. I love the job description for the Baltimore job- it is a great description, too, for the parish Coordinator of YM. It occurs to me that my description, up there, is similar to how I'd start at a parish YM position, too. Last week our staff discussed that we must not consider our congregation as a big white piece of paper to which we are bringing the color. We must give our people credit for the gifts, talents, and yearnings they bring to the table. The Archdiocese of Baltimore is already doing great work, what an amazing position to step into... their next Director is going to be very blessed to join that team.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Rest In Peace
Tonight after Mass we followed PJ's craving to Yoki, our favorite sushi restaurant. Oh my word the food there is so good. We took a table on the sidewalk, where the balmy weather was just perfect, with a beautiful breeze.
When our server came to the table, Scott asked for the owner, Tom. Tom is a parishioner, and leaves the restaurant every Sunday evening to come to our 5:00 Mass. Whenever we visit his restaurant, he comes by the table several times to check on us and chat with us. He has shared some of his faith story with us, and the ongoing theme in his stories has been, really, surrender and obedience to God's will. He is a prayerful and holy person, and joyful in a way that only a prayerful/holy person can be.
So, when Scott asked about him tonight we were shocked to see the waitress' tears- she told us that Tom had died- they had just been to his wake and his funeral is tomorrow morning. It was such a stunner. Tom was 26 years old and died of pneumonia- he had no health insurance and waited too long to get help for himself. A friend of his in the restaurant told Scott that when Tom was at his sickest, he told her that he was willing to go whenever God called him. His understanding that being a Christian means obedience to God's will was true to his heart until his last breath. I'd love to believe that I could do the same at 26 years of age, but I know I could not have. I'm thankful to have known Tom, and been witness to his example of holiness. RIP
When our server came to the table, Scott asked for the owner, Tom. Tom is a parishioner, and leaves the restaurant every Sunday evening to come to our 5:00 Mass. Whenever we visit his restaurant, he comes by the table several times to check on us and chat with us. He has shared some of his faith story with us, and the ongoing theme in his stories has been, really, surrender and obedience to God's will. He is a prayerful and holy person, and joyful in a way that only a prayerful/holy person can be.
So, when Scott asked about him tonight we were shocked to see the waitress' tears- she told us that Tom had died- they had just been to his wake and his funeral is tomorrow morning. It was such a stunner. Tom was 26 years old and died of pneumonia- he had no health insurance and waited too long to get help for himself. A friend of his in the restaurant told Scott that when Tom was at his sickest, he told her that he was willing to go whenever God called him. His understanding that being a Christian means obedience to God's will was true to his heart until his last breath. I'd love to believe that I could do the same at 26 years of age, but I know I could not have. I'm thankful to have known Tom, and been witness to his example of holiness. RIP
Thursday, July 09, 2009
Jealous
I'm beginning my third year as an Other-Than-Youth-Ministry-Coordinator- that's hard to believe. I love my current job and am not ready to leave it, I have no stirrings of wonder or urges to wander at all. But I sure do miss Youth Ministry.
This week Scott is at Catholic Heart Work Camp, and every night he calls me to tell me the best stories of the day. There are so many. CHWC is an excellent organization- they know what they're doing and offer a powerful combination of discipleship and social justice work with high-energy praise and worship and deep and meaningful faith development opportunities for their participants. This week Scott has experienced again that thing that makes a YM's job special: the honor of being able to witness the growth and deepening of faith in young people.
I think that the best YM's are at their best in retreat and camp settings; it's a chance to get away from the everyday with your kids, a chance to have the blessing of a significant amount of time with them. It's object-learning all day, and down-time where you have, literally, nothing else to do but hang out together. These are things YM's wish for all the time, and try to create at the parish, but rarely get to do. At home, ministry is often done on the fly, when you get the chance.
Every YM strives to be relational, and weekends and weeks like CHWC really give an opportunity to live that out.
So I'll admit it, I'm flat-out jealous of Scott this week and the other YM's that are there, or somewhere, away with their kids. I'm so happy for him and love to hear the stories and I know I'll be moved by the obvious differences in the faces of the kids from before they leave to their return home at the end of the week. I'm proud to be on the staff of a parish that cares enough about youth and about evangelization and service to support this kind of activity, too. But there's a green monster burning in my heart, jealous of a missed opportunity to be a part of that kind of ministry. I guess that's how I know that my calling to YM is still there- even while I'm on this side-road, I think it must be true that eventually I'll be back in that game- and there will be, I pray, many weekends and weeks like CHWC to come for me and my future kids.
This week Scott is at Catholic Heart Work Camp, and every night he calls me to tell me the best stories of the day. There are so many. CHWC is an excellent organization- they know what they're doing and offer a powerful combination of discipleship and social justice work with high-energy praise and worship and deep and meaningful faith development opportunities for their participants. This week Scott has experienced again that thing that makes a YM's job special: the honor of being able to witness the growth and deepening of faith in young people.
I think that the best YM's are at their best in retreat and camp settings; it's a chance to get away from the everyday with your kids, a chance to have the blessing of a significant amount of time with them. It's object-learning all day, and down-time where you have, literally, nothing else to do but hang out together. These are things YM's wish for all the time, and try to create at the parish, but rarely get to do. At home, ministry is often done on the fly, when you get the chance.
Every YM strives to be relational, and weekends and weeks like CHWC really give an opportunity to live that out.
So I'll admit it, I'm flat-out jealous of Scott this week and the other YM's that are there, or somewhere, away with their kids. I'm so happy for him and love to hear the stories and I know I'll be moved by the obvious differences in the faces of the kids from before they leave to their return home at the end of the week. I'm proud to be on the staff of a parish that cares enough about youth and about evangelization and service to support this kind of activity, too. But there's a green monster burning in my heart, jealous of a missed opportunity to be a part of that kind of ministry. I guess that's how I know that my calling to YM is still there- even while I'm on this side-road, I think it must be true that eventually I'll be back in that game- and there will be, I pray, many weekends and weeks like CHWC to come for me and my future kids.
Saturday, July 04, 2009
Stressville, USA
Tomorrow I go back to work after a rainy, but restful, vacation. I've got some tiny knots of apprehension, as it's a busy day, with lots to do... but, I remind myself of how much I truly love what I do, and start to feel some excitement about being back in that place, surrounded by great people.
I have not been living the hermit's life though, despite the rain- Thursday I went to the grocery store. I was listening to a podcast of This American Life called "signs of a recession" and the first story they told was about the statistical rise in broken teeth during a recession. My dentist had told me just last week that he was seeing a lot more grinders and stress fractures... and this week when I went to the drug store to buy a night-guard-thing for my own grinding problem, I was surprised to find that there were very few left!
I certainly saw a rise in aggression and stress at the grocery store- it was the Thurs. before the 4th, and it was POURING, and the store was full of people. I noticed that when the store is full, with way too many people, customers counter-productively become MORE aggressive and LESS cooperative.
Today on the road I was flipped off by two different people, and saw another person flip off another driver. People are cutting each other off and waving nasty hand gestures, and scowling. I can feel the stress in the world. I see people become more internally-focused, at a time when we need each other more and more. I hope we figure this out, as a civilization. I wonder how or if things can get better if we are unwilling to cooperate with each other on little things like getting down a grocery store aisle or merging onto a highway ramp.
This week my prayers will be for frustrated people, and the young people and adults who are giving a week to helping each other and growing closer to God.
I have not been living the hermit's life though, despite the rain- Thursday I went to the grocery store. I was listening to a podcast of This American Life called "signs of a recession" and the first story they told was about the statistical rise in broken teeth during a recession. My dentist had told me just last week that he was seeing a lot more grinders and stress fractures... and this week when I went to the drug store to buy a night-guard-thing for my own grinding problem, I was surprised to find that there were very few left!
I certainly saw a rise in aggression and stress at the grocery store- it was the Thurs. before the 4th, and it was POURING, and the store was full of people. I noticed that when the store is full, with way too many people, customers counter-productively become MORE aggressive and LESS cooperative.
Today on the road I was flipped off by two different people, and saw another person flip off another driver. People are cutting each other off and waving nasty hand gestures, and scowling. I can feel the stress in the world. I see people become more internally-focused, at a time when we need each other more and more. I hope we figure this out, as a civilization. I wonder how or if things can get better if we are unwilling to cooperate with each other on little things like getting down a grocery store aisle or merging onto a highway ramp.
This week my prayers will be for frustrated people, and the young people and adults who are giving a week to helping each other and growing closer to God.
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
Well it's been a rainy week here in Lake Woebegone...
I'm mid-vacation and having an awfully nice time, despite the near-constant rain. I'm fighting the urges that everyone on Facebook is expressing, mourning the Summer and wishing it would just go away for crying out loud. I'm trying to take it all as a cosmic hint from the universe that I should just relax already.
We went on our annual camping trip and it was near-perfect, but for the lack of a few important people who would have been fun to have there, and who would have loved it. One of my favorite parts of this camping trip is the tinkering with the recipe of people that come each year. I used to be nervous about mixing people from different walks of my life, but learned from my friends Peter and John that it can be fun and a bit of an adventure. Visiting them was rarely a solo time, and I never knew who else would be there, and I always felt somehow proud that they'd allow me to mix with their other, cooler or smarter or way more talented friends.
Anyway, this year's trip brought 4 newbies, and it was fun to mix with them and watch them mix, and the ultimate-est fun-est to bring them to Tanglewood for A Prairie Home Companion. There is so much special about this trip that each year I feel so lucky to be there, and so proud to share it, as if I'm in a very special and kind of secret club into which I have the privilege of inviting new members.
Our week of vacation is capped at the other end with a 3rd of July cookout at our house, and then a 4th that's gloriously free of plans. They say the sun is due to come out again the day I head back in to work, naturally. Ah well, it's been a good vacation, so far, anyway.
We went on our annual camping trip and it was near-perfect, but for the lack of a few important people who would have been fun to have there, and who would have loved it. One of my favorite parts of this camping trip is the tinkering with the recipe of people that come each year. I used to be nervous about mixing people from different walks of my life, but learned from my friends Peter and John that it can be fun and a bit of an adventure. Visiting them was rarely a solo time, and I never knew who else would be there, and I always felt somehow proud that they'd allow me to mix with their other, cooler or smarter or way more talented friends.
Anyway, this year's trip brought 4 newbies, and it was fun to mix with them and watch them mix, and the ultimate-est fun-est to bring them to Tanglewood for A Prairie Home Companion. There is so much special about this trip that each year I feel so lucky to be there, and so proud to share it, as if I'm in a very special and kind of secret club into which I have the privilege of inviting new members.
Our week of vacation is capped at the other end with a 3rd of July cookout at our house, and then a 4th that's gloriously free of plans. They say the sun is due to come out again the day I head back in to work, naturally. Ah well, it's been a good vacation, so far, anyway.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Simple Woman's Daybook
FOR TODAY 06/22/09...Outside My Window... It is just RAINING. It's been raining, or misting, or pouring, or monsooning, for many many days now. The lawn is lush and green, or at least it looks like it from in here.
I am thinking... about our annual camping trip- out to western MA, where we'll gather and camp and then pilgrimage to Tanglewood to see our friend Garrison Keillor for A Prairie Home companion. There's much to do, lots of packing and inventory and then there are the cooking possibilities!! I'm thinking about rhubarb-blueberry pocket pies... How will I get it all done?
I am thankful for... for a mildly encouraging weather report. Thankful for my smaller body, of late, and the fun old clothes I get to wear again, and for the chance to take this trip every year.
From the kitchen... tonight, a lovely low-carb, hi-fiber meal, cooked without any trace of bacon grease.
I am wearing... winter clothes, practically... sweatshirt, new yoga pants... SOCKS. Where is Summer???
I am creating... Probably, those pocket pies! How can I help myself?
I am going... to dinner tomorrow night with friends, to breakfast Wed. with another friend, and then dinner with old friends Wed. night. I love weeks like this!
I am reading... not much! I did do my usual Summer reading shopping, and Mary Roach hasn't put out a new book, so I'm hoping to scrounge some books from my sister, and who knows what then?
I am hoping... beyond hope that the weather will clear up.
I am hearing... The Closer on tv. This is a GREAT show. Deputy Chief Johnson rocks.
Around the house... we have been cleaning and clearing spots for packing and stacking up gear for the trip.
One of my favorite things... is the lawn at Tanglewood. It's just perfect. And though you can't actually see the show from where we sit, we are surrounded by people lounging at picnic tables, sipping wine, and the grass is so pristine that you can walk around without ever stepping on a stone or twig. After the show, we all go into the shed, and do a big singalong that always makes me teary just for the sheer joy of it.
A Few Plans For The Rest Of The Week: Packing, friends, cooking, camping, laughing, sunning, swimming, napping, reading, noshing, loving, relaxing, playing.
Here is picture thought I am sharing... it's the "view" from our "seats" at Tanglewood.
Friday, June 19, 2009
outlook: rain
We're t-minus one week on the big yearly camping trip. Here's the week's forecast as it was this morning on almanac.com:
Now, on second inspection, it looks like this:
So, THAT'S not really an upgrade.
On our wedding day, it rained like it's been raining around here this weekend. Monsoon-ish. It rained the kind of rain where you look out the window and think to yourself "it is IMPOSSIBLE for rain to come down THIS HARD for THIS LONG!!!"
As for this weekend, all I want to do is lounge, and nap- not a lot of energy going on around here, and I don't mind a weekend like that every once in a while, but I do hope and pray it'll clear up for Thursday and next weekend. We've been rained on at Tanglewood, and it's SO not as fun as when it's nice out. I don't mind rainy camping but I surely prefer dry camping. Before our wedding everyone told us to hang our rosary beads out our windows, or put religious statues in the windows. I ended up with one really wet rosary. Rain rain go away already!!!
Now, on second inspection, it looks like this:
So, THAT'S not really an upgrade.
On our wedding day, it rained like it's been raining around here this weekend. Monsoon-ish. It rained the kind of rain where you look out the window and think to yourself "it is IMPOSSIBLE for rain to come down THIS HARD for THIS LONG!!!"
As for this weekend, all I want to do is lounge, and nap- not a lot of energy going on around here, and I don't mind a weekend like that every once in a while, but I do hope and pray it'll clear up for Thursday and next weekend. We've been rained on at Tanglewood, and it's SO not as fun as when it's nice out. I don't mind rainy camping but I surely prefer dry camping. Before our wedding everyone told us to hang our rosary beads out our windows, or put religious statues in the windows. I ended up with one really wet rosary. Rain rain go away already!!!
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
New Thinking
I've been thinking about this upcoming year at the parish, and we're doing faith formation planning, and I've come to this resolution that I think we should make, as a staff.
I think we should agree to assume the best about our parishioners. I think we should remove from our conversations that sound anything like this: "oh, they'll never come for that." "They will be confused by that." "The people don't want to work that hard." "That is too much to ask." "They will resent us for pushing too hard (or asking too much)."
I think the truth is closer to this: people in our parishes are seeking for something. They want to learn more about their faith. They want to grow closer to God. They want to help, and they appreciate being needed.
I believe that thinking this way about our people can make a huge difference in how we treat them, and that will make a difference in their response.
But hey, it's just a theory... we'll have to try it to know if it works...
I think we should agree to assume the best about our parishioners. I think we should remove from our conversations that sound anything like this: "oh, they'll never come for that." "They will be confused by that." "The people don't want to work that hard." "That is too much to ask." "They will resent us for pushing too hard (or asking too much)."
I think the truth is closer to this: people in our parishes are seeking for something. They want to learn more about their faith. They want to grow closer to God. They want to help, and they appreciate being needed.
I believe that thinking this way about our people can make a huge difference in how we treat them, and that will make a difference in their response.
But hey, it's just a theory... we'll have to try it to know if it works...
Saturday, June 13, 2009
I've got the beat
Have I ever mentioned that I have music stuck in my head all the time? Like, always-- constantly. Whenever I tell someone this, they inevitably ask me "oh yeeeeahhh? What song is in your head RIGHT NOW then?" So, in case that's what you're wondering, right now it is the obnoxious theme song to Radio Boston, which I just hate. (It's really only two notes, played on and on.) This is an example of songs that I really try to avoid, because it's one thing to have a good song stuck in here, and quite another to have an annoying one. The only cure I've found to having a song stuck is to listen to another song. Many times in the car I've asked Scott to turn the radio on so I can replace whatever is stuck in there (here).
Usually it is not a whole song but some fraction of one, often just one phrase, so things like radio jingles and tv ads fit that bill perfectly- even little bits of music like a doorbell ringing will lodge themselves in until I find something better (this part is tough to explain to people who ask me what is in my head RIGHT NOW because the answer sometimes is "doooo-doo!".
I heard a story on Radio Lab that in a roundabout way made connections between this state and epilepsy, believe it or not- they solicited techniques from their rea
ders for making songs go away and one that I've played with is to just stop the song on one note and let that one note go on and on and on until it all goes away. This doesn't really work for me, but it does give my brain a bit of a break.
It is not, as you might be wondering, agonizing. Right now I have the "Magic 106.7" song-let in my head, because I have been poking at our radio's buttons trying to find a song that I won't mind having on an endless loop in here- which reminds me, thank GOD for satellite radio- no commercial jingles at ALL and there's always a good song on somewhere. Regular radio is all jingles and not much music. I've had songs in my head since I was a very little girl- I remember being outside the Cone school and realizing that I'd had something stuck in for a long time- this might have been my first realization of it.
The only time it's been a problem has been in high-stress points of my life, like when I started at my former parish (should have been a sign of the trouble to come!). I had trouble sleeping because I could NOT get a particular Mariah Carey song out of my head. I don't remember what song, and no, I am not a Mariah fan- it just came in my head at the wrong time and refused to leave. I had nasty fever-like dreams for days where I was trying to get that music to stop or was being forced to listen to it or something like that. My stress really made that song stick and stick hard. I work hard not to get that stressed now.
So, here's to a musical life. Maybe I'll put it to work for me...
Usually it is not a whole song but some fraction of one, often just one phrase, so things like radio jingles and tv ads fit that bill perfectly- even little bits of music like a doorbell ringing will lodge themselves in until I find something better (this part is tough to explain to people who ask me what is in my head RIGHT NOW because the answer sometimes is "doooo-doo!".
I heard a story on Radio Lab that in a roundabout way made connections between this state and epilepsy, believe it or not- they solicited techniques from their rea
ders for making songs go away and one that I've played with is to just stop the song on one note and let that one note go on and on and on until it all goes away. This doesn't really work for me, but it does give my brain a bit of a break.It is not, as you might be wondering, agonizing. Right now I have the "Magic 106.7" song-let in my head, because I have been poking at our radio's buttons trying to find a song that I won't mind having on an endless loop in here- which reminds me, thank GOD for satellite radio- no commercial jingles at ALL and there's always a good song on somewhere. Regular radio is all jingles and not much music. I've had songs in my head since I was a very little girl- I remember being outside the Cone school and realizing that I'd had something stuck in for a long time- this might have been my first realization of it.
The only time it's been a problem has been in high-stress points of my life, like when I started at my former parish (should have been a sign of the trouble to come!). I had trouble sleeping because I could NOT get a particular Mariah Carey song out of my head. I don't remember what song, and no, I am not a Mariah fan- it just came in my head at the wrong time and refused to leave. I had nasty fever-like dreams for days where I was trying to get that music to stop or was being forced to listen to it or something like that. My stress really made that song stick and stick hard. I work hard not to get that stressed now.
So, here's to a musical life. Maybe I'll put it to work for me...
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Oh yeah, I've got it.
PMS that is. Wanna know how I know I have PMS? Because, among other symptoms, I finally called to schedule a hair appointment for myself and the person who answered the phone at the salon told me that my hairdresser has left. Months ago, she left. Since then I have felt wrecked! I'm so bummed out that my hairdresser just up and left me behind, the one who knows what stupid rods to use for my stupid perm. And I'm at a loss- now to whom shall I go? I love Laura's perms but I don't want to go to Waltham for mine. I know people who know people who ARE hairdressers, but you know, that's tricky! Once you go to someone you know, you can NEVER LEAVE. You'll run into them at someone's birthday party and they'll look at your hair and know how long it's been since you visited their shop and they'll know.
Anyway, my crazy reaction to this news and the way it's making my day a gloom-fest, that's how I know I have PMS. Oh, and the simultaneous urges I have a) to assert myself and get my damned point across and B) to throw my hands in the air, exasperated, and say "you know what? Whatever."
Also I have a low-grade fever that Motrin is not touching.
I don't complain about cramps and headaches, I accept them as penance for not wanting to bear children. But PMS-nastiness, well, that's just a punishment on everyone. Sorry, everyone. But then again, you know what? Whatever.
Anyway, my crazy reaction to this news and the way it's making my day a gloom-fest, that's how I know I have PMS. Oh, and the simultaneous urges I have a) to assert myself and get my damned point across and B) to throw my hands in the air, exasperated, and say "you know what? Whatever."
Also I have a low-grade fever that Motrin is not touching.
I don't complain about cramps and headaches, I accept them as penance for not wanting to bear children. But PMS-nastiness, well, that's just a punishment on everyone. Sorry, everyone. But then again, you know what? Whatever.
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
substance abuser
Last night we went out for a big fancy dinner to celebrate our 8th anniversary (we had a big gift certificate!). I threw all caution to the wind and went ca-ray-zee. No, not drinking-crazy...
I have been eating low carb since Ash Wednesday, or thereabouts, and have really liked it (see the bacon-flavored entries here on this blog). But every once in a while I do go a little carb-a-palooza. Last night was an extreme one. I had risotto (oh it was soooo good) and BREAD! White bread! I ate all the croutons in my caesar salad, and then... I had dessert. Creme Brulee. Oh God.
It was all wonderful, but it caused a serious shock to my system! When we got home, I was so sleepy I felt like I'd been drugged. I fell asleep on the couch by 9:30 and then finally dragged myself to bed. I could not believe how badly I was affected by that food. It made quite a difference in how I was feeling.
So, now I know even better how good I feel when I limit carbohydrates- after a meal like that I feel like I need some detox and was happy to get back to my now-normal eating habits. Somebody pass me the bacon!
I have been eating low carb since Ash Wednesday, or thereabouts, and have really liked it (see the bacon-flavored entries here on this blog). But every once in a while I do go a little carb-a-palooza. Last night was an extreme one. I had risotto (oh it was soooo good) and BREAD! White bread! I ate all the croutons in my caesar salad, and then... I had dessert. Creme Brulee. Oh God.
It was all wonderful, but it caused a serious shock to my system! When we got home, I was so sleepy I felt like I'd been drugged. I fell asleep on the couch by 9:30 and then finally dragged myself to bed. I could not believe how badly I was affected by that food. It made quite a difference in how I was feeling.
So, now I know even better how good I feel when I limit carbohydrates- after a meal like that I feel like I need some detox and was happy to get back to my now-normal eating habits. Somebody pass me the bacon!
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Tortoise and Hare
The other day after I had finished my first glass of iced coffee, I was making breakfast for Scott, and he asked if I wanted some more. I said "sure, I'll have some." He filled my glass to the brim. To Scott, "some" can very easily mean "all." It got me thinking about the two of us, and how different we are in some ways.
Scott is impetuous. He gets an idea in his head and just goes ahead and starts. I am more inclined to wait and let things develop, make sure things are set, get things ready. He just goes. When I need a new car (or anything new, really) I do research, comparison shop, check the finances, read customer reviews... he gets to shopping. When I get in a pool, it is an inch at a time. He dives.
Well, you get the picture.
Over the years (8 to be exact, this Tuesday) we have learned a lot from each other. He has learned how to slow himself down, and doesn't spend like he used to. On the other hand, I have learned to be a bit more free. It's only in the last year that I realized that I could indeed buy two cartons of milk, or two dozen eggs, or whatever, rather than buying one, using it up, and then going to the store for more. I don't know why it feels so decadent to me to buy two cartons of milk, but there you go.
We are indeed good for each other. He can get me up and moving and I can slow him down. The other day he said to me "we are a good team." He's right.
Scott is impetuous. He gets an idea in his head and just goes ahead and starts. I am more inclined to wait and let things develop, make sure things are set, get things ready. He just goes. When I need a new car (or anything new, really) I do research, comparison shop, check the finances, read customer reviews... he gets to shopping. When I get in a pool, it is an inch at a time. He dives.
Well, you get the picture.
Over the years (8 to be exact, this Tuesday) we have learned a lot from each other. He has learned how to slow himself down, and doesn't spend like he used to. On the other hand, I have learned to be a bit more free. It's only in the last year that I realized that I could indeed buy two cartons of milk, or two dozen eggs, or whatever, rather than buying one, using it up, and then going to the store for more. I don't know why it feels so decadent to me to buy two cartons of milk, but there you go.
We are indeed good for each other. He can get me up and moving and I can slow him down. The other day he said to me "we are a good team." He's right.
Monday, May 25, 2009
A Moment of Silence, please!!
Today as we tooled around the North Shore on a daytrip celebrating Memorial Day, we were listening to the Red Sox game on the radio. At 3:00 they announced that they would have a moment of silence for our veterans, and then immediately started playing a song. That inspired us to write our own song. Here are the lyrics, you'll have to insert your own tune:
This is a song about a moment of silence, a moment of silence, a moment of silence!
A moment of silence is what we'd be having, if we weren't singing this song!
I think we have come up with something truly moving that will improve all moments of silence from now and on through history. Everybody sing!
This is a song about a moment of silence, a moment of silence, a moment of silence!
A moment of silence is what we'd be having, if we weren't singing this song!
I think we have come up with something truly moving that will improve all moments of silence from now and on through history. Everybody sing!
Saturday, May 23, 2009
I am Catholic.
I grew up in southern-central Maine, the youngest of 5 children in a solidly Catholic family. We went to Mass every Sunday (I tell people now that we could only miss Mass if we were vomiting or bleeding, and could produce evidence of such) and Holy Day, went to the parish suppers, belonged to the church's credit union, volunteered for the Christmas fair, and of course attended CCD and then Youth Group. I remember not knowing what religion most of my friends were, unless they attended my church, or unless they were Baptist, because the Baptist ones were always talking about being Christians.
While we were a devotional family, doing our Advent wreath every Saturday night before Christmas and eschewing meat on Fridays of Lent, I would say we weren't a particularly spiritual family. Our family prayer life was basically the recitation of Grace before dinner, and that was said at top-speed- I remember realizing that there were in fact actual words to that prayer- up until then it had been sort of a blur of syllables, like the ellemenopy section in the alphabet. But never did I hear anyone offer to pray for another, for instance. I remember one night my Grandmother was visiting, sleeping in the other bed in my room, and in the dark I told her I couldn't sleep. She said "why don't you say your Rosary?" and was horrified to learn that I didn't know how. Of all the many sets of Rosary beads I have now, the one given me by my Grandmother, allegedly blessed by a pope, is the one that I most treasure.
It was, then, not through my family directly but because we Talbots were habitual church-goers that I found my real faith. As teenagers, we were invited to attend retreats, and I followed my siblings first to a 9/10 grade retreat called Gift, then to a 11/12th grade retreat called Search. I think God opened my heart through Gift and then filled it to overflowing at Search. At Gift, I learned that I have gifts and that God loves me. At Search, I learned that God has a plan for me, and it was here and through other transformational Catholic activities that I received what I was sure was a calling from God, to Youth Ministry.
Now I have been in professional ministry in the Catholic Church for 14 years, and never would have guessed when I started that I would be where I am now, working primarily with adults and studying for a Master's Degree in Religious Education. The Church, the local Church, has changed so much, and I have grown with it and because of it- often painfully.
I was so stunned at the sex-abuse scandal. I remember at a Youth Ministers' meeting just after it had started in earnest, praying against the persecutors who were accusing the Church of horrible things. Now I know that they weren't so much persecutors as liberators. I remember pulling my car over to the side of the road more than once when hearing the news was more than I could bear and drive safely at the same time. I remember reading reports in the paper, and getting phone calls, about priests I knew. I remember the very real fear in not knowing who to trust, who to believe. It was a time when I realized that anyone could use the awesome power of fear- any call to any rectory with any accusation (no confirming evidence was necessary) could have a priest removed from his parish overnight, and exposed in the daily papers the next day.
It was a frightening time for me, who had devoted my whole life to serving the young of a Church which had spent many years abusing them. Now, my faith and my calling were in question. Suddenly teachings that I had disagreed with out-of-hand, teachings that I had overlooked as simply wrong, nonsense- teachings that I had avoided passing on, even in my ministry where I was paid to do so, became more important to really look at. I wondered if my credibility as a minister of God was in question if I continued to work for this Church, so full of evil.
At one point, I visited the Episcopalian Priest in town, who acknowledged my crisis of faith and gave me some guidance. A few days later, my lawn was struck my lightning. I was away from home at the time, so I didn't consider it altogether a direct message from God, but still... I think I'd probably be a pretty great pastor, and I think the Church would probably be improved by female leaders- at the same time I know that the local Church runs greatly on the backs and hands and feet of women, in partnership (or in direct opposition to) male leaders. It doesn't feel like a calling I've been given, at least not now. I am in a good place, a place where my gifts and talents are being used to glorify God, right now. I haven't always been.
My faith has been saved over and over again. At one point I heard a speaker at a Youth Ministry conference speak about those who are called to be Prophets. It was like hearing a diagnosis of a long-suffered, unnamed disease. He said that prophets can't help but be prophets- but that they should remember that historically, prophets are ultimately either listened to, or killed. I began to understand why I seemed constantly to be butting heads with church leaders who refused to focus on the Mission, who cared more about their own glorification than the glory of God, who worried more about their financial audits than the care of the poor, the young, the old, the needy in their parishes.
Now I work at a parish that is everything I've dreamed of- the pastor is intelligent, engaged, excited and happy to be a priest. He says and believes words like "conversion," "evangelization," and "discipleship." He reads articles and books about ministry, he knows his theology, he cares about people, he loves being Catholic, he does not live in fear of the Hierarchy, even as he respects it. These, I am sure, sound like no-brainer qualifications for a pastor, but in fact they are quite rare.
The staff at this parish is engaged, knows the people of the Church, is constantly trying to grow in personal faith and in professionalism. We have fun together, we respect each other. We laugh a lot. The people here are gracious and faith-filled. They are friendly and welcoming. They want to know more. They show up. They praise and give feedback all the time. It is a holy place, and I know, a spiritual retreat that God has sent me to, in order to keep me sane and to keep me Catholic. So far, so good- but I know this can't, being the Catholic Church, last forever. Someday I will be sent back out into battle. I am trying to Be Here Now.
My husband has the most pure and child-like (but not childish) faith of anyone I've ever known. He quiets my panicked fears with surety. He digs in to discuss our doubts (he has them too), he prays for me, he prays grace conspicuously at restaurant tables, he reminded me that God was indeed here with us, during our lowest points. Our marriage is truly a spiritual union, and a Catholic one at that.
I remember going to Rome for World Youth Day in 2000. I marveled at the architecture, the Catholicism pulsing through the air, the bells and smells, all so exotic but so personal and familiar to me. I remember thinking "ahhh- so here is my ethnicity!" I grew up with very little palpable connection to what I call "all the white peoples of the world" with whom I share ancestors. No traditional ethnic foods, songs, dress for me. But in Rome I found my true ancestry. I am Catholic.
While we were a devotional family, doing our Advent wreath every Saturday night before Christmas and eschewing meat on Fridays of Lent, I would say we weren't a particularly spiritual family. Our family prayer life was basically the recitation of Grace before dinner, and that was said at top-speed- I remember realizing that there were in fact actual words to that prayer- up until then it had been sort of a blur of syllables, like the ellemenopy section in the alphabet. But never did I hear anyone offer to pray for another, for instance. I remember one night my Grandmother was visiting, sleeping in the other bed in my room, and in the dark I told her I couldn't sleep. She said "why don't you say your Rosary?" and was horrified to learn that I didn't know how. Of all the many sets of Rosary beads I have now, the one given me by my Grandmother, allegedly blessed by a pope, is the one that I most treasure.
It was, then, not through my family directly but because we Talbots were habitual church-goers that I found my real faith. As teenagers, we were invited to attend retreats, and I followed my siblings first to a 9/10 grade retreat called Gift, then to a 11/12th grade retreat called Search. I think God opened my heart through Gift and then filled it to overflowing at Search. At Gift, I learned that I have gifts and that God loves me. At Search, I learned that God has a plan for me, and it was here and through other transformational Catholic activities that I received what I was sure was a calling from God, to Youth Ministry.
Now I have been in professional ministry in the Catholic Church for 14 years, and never would have guessed when I started that I would be where I am now, working primarily with adults and studying for a Master's Degree in Religious Education. The Church, the local Church, has changed so much, and I have grown with it and because of it- often painfully.
I was so stunned at the sex-abuse scandal. I remember at a Youth Ministers' meeting just after it had started in earnest, praying against the persecutors who were accusing the Church of horrible things. Now I know that they weren't so much persecutors as liberators. I remember pulling my car over to the side of the road more than once when hearing the news was more than I could bear and drive safely at the same time. I remember reading reports in the paper, and getting phone calls, about priests I knew. I remember the very real fear in not knowing who to trust, who to believe. It was a time when I realized that anyone could use the awesome power of fear- any call to any rectory with any accusation (no confirming evidence was necessary) could have a priest removed from his parish overnight, and exposed in the daily papers the next day.
It was a frightening time for me, who had devoted my whole life to serving the young of a Church which had spent many years abusing them. Now, my faith and my calling were in question. Suddenly teachings that I had disagreed with out-of-hand, teachings that I had overlooked as simply wrong, nonsense- teachings that I had avoided passing on, even in my ministry where I was paid to do so, became more important to really look at. I wondered if my credibility as a minister of God was in question if I continued to work for this Church, so full of evil.
At one point, I visited the Episcopalian Priest in town, who acknowledged my crisis of faith and gave me some guidance. A few days later, my lawn was struck my lightning. I was away from home at the time, so I didn't consider it altogether a direct message from God, but still... I think I'd probably be a pretty great pastor, and I think the Church would probably be improved by female leaders- at the same time I know that the local Church runs greatly on the backs and hands and feet of women, in partnership (or in direct opposition to) male leaders. It doesn't feel like a calling I've been given, at least not now. I am in a good place, a place where my gifts and talents are being used to glorify God, right now. I haven't always been.
My faith has been saved over and over again. At one point I heard a speaker at a Youth Ministry conference speak about those who are called to be Prophets. It was like hearing a diagnosis of a long-suffered, unnamed disease. He said that prophets can't help but be prophets- but that they should remember that historically, prophets are ultimately either listened to, or killed. I began to understand why I seemed constantly to be butting heads with church leaders who refused to focus on the Mission, who cared more about their own glorification than the glory of God, who worried more about their financial audits than the care of the poor, the young, the old, the needy in their parishes.
Now I work at a parish that is everything I've dreamed of- the pastor is intelligent, engaged, excited and happy to be a priest. He says and believes words like "conversion," "evangelization," and "discipleship." He reads articles and books about ministry, he knows his theology, he cares about people, he loves being Catholic, he does not live in fear of the Hierarchy, even as he respects it. These, I am sure, sound like no-brainer qualifications for a pastor, but in fact they are quite rare.
The staff at this parish is engaged, knows the people of the Church, is constantly trying to grow in personal faith and in professionalism. We have fun together, we respect each other. We laugh a lot. The people here are gracious and faith-filled. They are friendly and welcoming. They want to know more. They show up. They praise and give feedback all the time. It is a holy place, and I know, a spiritual retreat that God has sent me to, in order to keep me sane and to keep me Catholic. So far, so good- but I know this can't, being the Catholic Church, last forever. Someday I will be sent back out into battle. I am trying to Be Here Now.
My husband has the most pure and child-like (but not childish) faith of anyone I've ever known. He quiets my panicked fears with surety. He digs in to discuss our doubts (he has them too), he prays for me, he prays grace conspicuously at restaurant tables, he reminded me that God was indeed here with us, during our lowest points. Our marriage is truly a spiritual union, and a Catholic one at that.
I remember going to Rome for World Youth Day in 2000. I marveled at the architecture, the Catholicism pulsing through the air, the bells and smells, all so exotic but so personal and familiar to me. I remember thinking "ahhh- so here is my ethnicity!" I grew up with very little palpable connection to what I call "all the white peoples of the world" with whom I share ancestors. No traditional ethnic foods, songs, dress for me. But in Rome I found my true ancestry. I am Catholic.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Peace be with you. There, I said it.
Today was the day of prayer for religious-ed types at a beautiful convent/nursing home in Ipswich, sponsored by the Archdiocese. Last year's was great, with a wonderful speaker who spoke to us like the professional professionals that we are. Oh and it was at Gonzaga retreat house in Gloucester, overlooking a rocky ocean shore. Ahhh.
This year's was, as I said, at a lovely convent/nursing home, with lush green lawns and ticks, we were warned, and turkeys that would attack us, I guess. I dunno. The speaker, too, was lovely, but not life-altering. Too bad, really.
ANYWAY, the point of my story is that our staff was there, our wonderful wonderful staff, and a bunch of other people. My former staff was there from my former parish, including so many great and wonderful people who had made my time there good. But also, my replacement was there, and the person who had been my supervisor... I felt my blood pressure spike a bit when she walked in, old resentments and un-expressed tongue lashings fresh again. It was, like I've written before here, like being at an ex-boyfriend's family wedding. SO good to see some people, so tense seeing that ex.
But then we went to Mass, and I ended up next to her. I knew what was coming.
I read (and have taught, so I hope it's true) that the sign of peace at Mass is really about making peace before Communion. It's to remind us of this scripture, and so, when we turn and shake hands or meet eyes with the people around us, we're supposed to be making sure we've forgiven and have been forgiven by the other members of our faith community.
And there I was, next to the woman who really did not help me in my time of need- who, I felt, had betrayed me, who I just really don't like, darnit. I've prayed about it, worked on it, let it go and caught it back again.
I pulled myself together and did a quick examination of conscience, and worked myself up to a stage of forgiveness that would allow me to shake hands with her, look her in the eye and wish her peace. Because, you know, I do wish her peace. I think one reason she was was so disappointing to me as a supervisor and a co-worker is related to her having a real lack of courage, and that must be a pretty un-peaceful way to be. Think that's good enough for Communion?
This year's was, as I said, at a lovely convent/nursing home, with lush green lawns and ticks, we were warned, and turkeys that would attack us, I guess. I dunno. The speaker, too, was lovely, but not life-altering. Too bad, really.
ANYWAY, the point of my story is that our staff was there, our wonderful wonderful staff, and a bunch of other people. My former staff was there from my former parish, including so many great and wonderful people who had made my time there good. But also, my replacement was there, and the person who had been my supervisor... I felt my blood pressure spike a bit when she walked in, old resentments and un-expressed tongue lashings fresh again. It was, like I've written before here, like being at an ex-boyfriend's family wedding. SO good to see some people, so tense seeing that ex.
But then we went to Mass, and I ended up next to her. I knew what was coming.
I read (and have taught, so I hope it's true) that the sign of peace at Mass is really about making peace before Communion. It's to remind us of this scripture, and so, when we turn and shake hands or meet eyes with the people around us, we're supposed to be making sure we've forgiven and have been forgiven by the other members of our faith community.
And there I was, next to the woman who really did not help me in my time of need- who, I felt, had betrayed me, who I just really don't like, darnit. I've prayed about it, worked on it, let it go and caught it back again.
I pulled myself together and did a quick examination of conscience, and worked myself up to a stage of forgiveness that would allow me to shake hands with her, look her in the eye and wish her peace. Because, you know, I do wish her peace. I think one reason she was was so disappointing to me as a supervisor and a co-worker is related to her having a real lack of courage, and that must be a pretty un-peaceful way to be. Think that's good enough for Communion?
Saturday, May 16, 2009
KITTY HEAD!!!
I know, I know, I go from righteous indignation to cat-ridiculousness. Such is the blog.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Anyone else have a problem with this?
Check it out, give it a listen, and then comment- D. Scott Miller's planning to forward our thoughts on to the Catholic Channel. Hey, maybe you think it's a riot, I don't know- but let your opinions be heard!
http://www.dscottmiller.com/2009/05/14/mr-youth-minister-guy
http://www.dscottmiller.com/2009/05/14/mr-youth-minister-guy
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Shepherd Sunday thoughts, only a few weeks late...
I've heard a lot of different versions of Good Shepherd Sunday homilies, and most of them talk about how stupid sheep are (not the best place to start when you're preaching TO the sheep! Still, it's true, my shepherd-friend will concur, I believe. Sandi's dad used to say something like "the IQ of one sheep is 10. The combined IQ of 10 sheep is 5." This I have found also to be applicable to middle school boys. But I digress).
But if I were going to do a homily on Shepherd Sunday, I would tell this story:
I grew up in Maine, yes, and did have a dear friend in high school who raised and showed sheep. I was lucky to be invited to travel and help her with some shows, and had a blast doing it. We wore tan pants (so as to make the sheep look whiter) and blucher mocs (so as to easily scrape the poop off the smooth soles) and tickled the sheep's bellies (so as to make them stand up straighter (but not too much, or they'd hunch, just like we would with too much tickling). I learned a lot.
One thing I learned was a great model of community and youth ministry. We were at the Big E fairgrounds in Springfield MA, and between our turns we watched the Border Cheviots compete. I remember the name because Sandi called them "Border Idiots." They are a bouncy breed, and if you want to know what the word "gambol" means, you can see it demonstrated by a Cheviot.
At one point, one of the Cheviots got loose from its handler. Here is where I witnessed this beautiful image. As the sheep bounced around the pen, impossible to catch, I saw people rise from their seats all around the ring. People from all sides stood slowly, and began to step toward the bouncing sheep. Soon I could see that they were forming a ring around the bouncy devil, slowly closing in on her. Finally the circle closed in around the sheep and someone got ahold of her and returned her to her rightful spot. Satisfied, everyone else went back to their seats for the rest of the festivities.
I have come to see that this was a great example for a church community. When that sheep was bouncing around, out of control, everyone was ready to help- the owner of the sheep didn't even have to ask, and no one demanded thanks. Everyone cared enough to do their part. Together, they did what one person, or a few people, could never do. And that circle of concern... well, that seems, still, so beautiful to me. Surrounding one in need with a circle of care is just what we should be doing for each other- and especially, I think, for the youngest of us, so often bounding and bouncing out of control. I dream of a church that responds this way.
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Do-Over
A week ago Saturday, my sisters came by to visit me. They pulled in the driveway in the early afternoon, and we spent some time together on the porch. It was a lovely day but I was feeling kinda groggy with a cold and was all wacky on cold medicine at the time... before long, we had to get ready for work and they headed toward home. It was about that time that I realized they'd come to SEE ME. For some reason I had thought they were out on a day trip and were swinging by because they were in the neighborhood- but they had really come down to see me, and Scott! I felt kind of embarrassed- I was grubby and not very effervescent, had no food to serve, and we were even out of toilet paper, for crying out loud!
So I invited them back down this past Saturday for a do-over. They graciously claimed to have been on cold medicine the week before as well, and brought some toilet paper just in case. We had a great dinner, soaked up some sun, laughed a lot, and ended the night around the fire pit. It was a really nice night, with just a bit of a nip, a great red sox game on the radio, good laughs, and no mosquitoes. Welcome, Summer (or at least Spring!) and here's to many many more nights by the fire, on the porch, with great friends.
So I invited them back down this past Saturday for a do-over. They graciously claimed to have been on cold medicine the week before as well, and brought some toilet paper just in case. We had a great dinner, soaked up some sun, laughed a lot, and ended the night around the fire pit. It was a really nice night, with just a bit of a nip, a great red sox game on the radio, good laughs, and no mosquitoes. Welcome, Summer (or at least Spring!) and here's to many many more nights by the fire, on the porch, with great friends.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Okay I should have specified this at the outset...
... but bananas are carb-o-crazy, so that's out. But I shall follow the potassium lead. Keep the tips coming! I feel a cramp coming on RIGHT NOW!
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