Converting a Slow Heart

Thursday night, I was sitting in adoration.  When I left and went home, I decided to journal a little bit.  Writing down my thoughts and feelings has always helped me sort through the mess that is my heart.  At times it is only after writing something down, that I will have a revelation about it.  I re-read what I wrote and it clicks.  That's it!  It is an interesting method of learning from myself.

So I sat down and wrote a bit.  It wasn't much, but the second to last line I wrote struck me.  I just looked at it again, closed my journal, and laid back on my bed, knowing that I would need to spend more time with it to fully unravel what I had just discovered.

Maybe, like Totus Tuus, I'm teaching not primarily for them, but for the salvation of my own soul.

 Perhaps that won't strike you as particularly profound.  That is alright---the Lord did it for me anyway.  I do find it to be profound.  What if the struggles I encounter in the classroom are not simply the quirks of my students or the secular culture pervading the hearts and minds of the youth?  Or, more accurately, it is that, but that primarily what the Lord desires to do is use all of it for my own salvation.

I've had this realization a few times before.  Leading a mission trip to Honduras, I wrote up a talk to give to my mission team.  I still have a phrase written down, the sheet bookmarking a place in my Bible, that came to me while preparing for the talk.  Re-reading it reminds me that it relates to my whole life, not just the experience of leading a mission to Honduras.

In a way, God is calling you to this mission not because of a beautiful gift you have to offer the people of Honduras, but because He desires this mission to convert your heart in some way so as to be more aligned with His.

 After I taught Totus Tuus (a catechetical program), I realized that all of the summer was spent not primarily for the sake of educating the youth of the diocese, although that is a great benefit.  I was tricked into thinking it was that.  The real purpose was to form my own heart and soul during the summer through living in community, teaching the Gospel, prayer, and play.  We were told that we were going to help bring Christ to others, but really it was all about going out and encountering Christ ourselves and letting that transform us.

Whether I am teaching or leading a mission trip, the Lord seems to keep pounding on the dense door of my heart, calling me to realize that all I encounter, all I do, all I learn, all is for the salvation of my own soul.  It is for converting this heart that is slow to hear, unwilling to follow, too proud to admit wrongs, and too quick to think I've already been converted.

Therefore, my beloved, as you have always obeyed, so now, not only as in my presence but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for God is at work in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure.  --Philippians 2:12-13

Who are You, Lord, and who am I?

"Who are You, Lord, and who am I?"

St. Francis of Assisi prayed this simple phrase.  I remember learning it in college during a class about St. Francis and St. Clare.  Part of me was consoled that even a great saint like Francis prayed to understand God and himself.  Once I went to a prayer group at college and was asked if I had any prayer intentions.  I responded with this prayer of St. Francis and I think some of them questioned if I was having a great crisis of faith.  I wasn't, but the prayer was one I had been pondering for a while.  It came up again a couple nights ago as I sat in adoration.

My students have certain perceptions of who I am.  My co-workers, friends, and family have different perceptions of who I am.  As I sat in adoration before Our Lord, I was wondering who I really was at the core.  Am I actually how I am when I first meet someone, reserved and quiet?  Or am I more truly myself in front of my class, fairly serious but enjoying laughing with my students and sharing Jesus with them?  Or am I most the person I am when I'm home with just my parents and we're playing cards or drinking coffee some Sunday afternoon?  Or is it when I play with nephews and niece?  Or when I am confessing my deep-rooted sins?  Or when I'm cut off in traffic?  Or when a student challenges me in front of the class?  Or when I'm deep in prayer?  When am I most myself?  My desire is to be consistent, but I find that each situation seems to pull out a different facet of my personality and I change depending on my environment and surroundings.  It isn't that it is necessarily a bad thing, but it leads me to wonder what I am at the core.

In actuality, I think I know myself quite well.  The question, I suppose, is less one of who I am and more one of how do I bring who I know myself to be into the different situations life affords?  At times I feel a bit envious of my older sisters who are religious sisters.  People expect them to behave in certain ways.  I teach Theology in a high school, but there is still the pressure to conform, to act certain ways so that one doesn't appear "holier-than-thou."  I know that in many ways, I am quite innocent of the world.  Yet people often believe that innocence is the same as naive.  While they are related, I think there is a difference.  I don't view myself as wholly lacking in wisdom or judgement.  However, there are many things I don't know about and experiences I have never had.  That doesn't bother me.  What bothers me is when lack of experience in some things seems equivalent to childish.  I'm young and innocent in some ways, but I'm not immature, just a bit shielded from the foolishness of the world at times.

So I found myself asking the Lord who I was to be.  How can I live for Him without bringing Him up in every conversation?  It isn't necessary to always speak of Jesus with words.  My life should proclaim Him.  People can get frustrated if you always point to Jesus and I don't want them to become deaf to the Gospel because I misuse it.  Yet I also don't want to feel like I must cover up my faith because it might cause inconvenient conversations or situations.

It is quite easy to live in my little bubble and instruct my students to be bold in standing up for the faith.  Because when I find myself in those situations, it is so difficult to be bold.  Instead of asking how I can best proclaim the truth, I find myself wondering how I can adhere to my principles without making people dislike me.  Perhaps St. Francis wondered such things also.  Lord, who am I?  Who do you desire me to be?  And, Lord, help me to know the truth about You.  Who are You, Lord?  Because that answer changes everything.

*Art by Robert Zund*

On being alone when it's disconcerting

The hardest part of college for me was always the going back to it.  It wasn't that I didn't like school, I loved school.  It wasn't that I didn't have friends, I did and they were amazingly wonderful people.  It wasn't that I had bad roommates, really awful food, or difficult situations with which to deal.  The reason it was hard to start a new school year was the feeling I felt at the beginning of the new semester.  It would be exciting, but I had this fear that I would be forgotten.  With new classes, I didn't know when my friends would be going to lunch or supper and I would have to establish a new routine for myself.  The fears weren't particularly overwhelming, but they were real.  My heart would feel like it was caged in a bit the first few days of school.  Contrary to my natural introverted temperament, the first days of the semester I didn't want to be alone.  Being alone made me a bit anxious and nervous.

The fear always faded quickly.  Within the week, I would study alone in my room and be completely fine with it.  I would call up a friend and we would go get lunch.  It was all fine.  As the years of college passed, the fear was less and less prevalent, although always subtly present.

I felt that little fear again when I moved into my first new home post-college.  My parents and sister helped me move the stuff into the house and then they drove home.  None of my housemates were home and for a little while, I began to question why I moved.  I felt isolated and alone.  That fear of being alone that is strangely so frightening to a natural introvert was again present.

I would like to say that since that point I've never again felt this disconcerting anxiety.  That, of course, would not be true.  It was the inspiration for this post.  At times I am able to feel overlooked when I come home and can't find someone to talk to, when everyone I seem to know has plans each night of the week, or when I see other people's lives moving forward while I think mine is standing still.  There is just enough truth in each of these events to make my little mind wonder if I'm not being forgotten or overlooked.  It is then that the anxious feeling returns and I don't want to be alone.
So this time, when it happened, I laid on my bed and I asked the Lord what was going on in my heart.  I asked Him to tell me the truth because my heart is getting tangled in half-truths and full-lies whispered by the evil one.  The anxiety I feel at times, isn't desired by God.  He desires peace for me.  He desires not a spirit of comparison, but a spirit that is directed toward His unique love for me.

The fears that plague our heart are not foolish, but they are not necessary.  God desires to hear about these troubles and aid us in our response toward them.  Through that conversation, our fears and anxiety will necessarily subside and peace will reign.

“Dear young people, like the first disciples, follow Jesus!  Do not be afraid to draw near to Him, to cross the threshold of His dwelling, to speak to Him face to face, as you talk with a friend.”     -St. John Paul II 

Pacem in Terris

This September 11th is one of sifting back through old memories and reliving as an adult the stories of my youth.  The feelings have a strength fourteen years after the fact that is surprising.  As an 11-year old, the gravity of the situation was not lost on me.  Yet what was unknown or scary to me then has been replaced by a deeper empathy, sensitivities that are born through maturity and growing more into a woman's heart.  Even at the time, the events of September 11th, 2001 impacted me greatly because of my father's profession.

I live in the Midwest and before that day, I didn't know what the World Trade Center even was.  Nobody I really knew even lived on the east coast and so my feelings were based on the stories I heard, wondering what was happening in our country, and recognizing that if I had lived in New York, my life might be very different.

For all of my youth, I was proud of the fact that my father was a firefighter in a nearby city.  On September 11th, as I saw firefighters respond for their duties, I felt a kinship that is born of knowing your beloved firefighter would race into that building right along with them.  The stories of firefighters climbing dozens of flights in full gear, directing people to the exit, telling them they were going to make it out as they continued to climb higher, reduced me to tears.  It didn't take too much of an imagination for me to picture the same being true of my father.  Fire engine crews being absolved by the department chaplain before entering the burning building.  With hearts beating wildly in their chests, a brotherhood of firefighters carrying out the wounded.  That would have been my dad, too.

This year I didn't just recall 9/11, I returned to the news footage, I heard the confusion in people's voice, I re-read stories of heroism.  My heart felt again that ache and my patriotism was again aroused.  Because I remember after 9/11 how the country was bonded together and how "God bless America" was not uttered as a passing comment but as something we infused in our very marrow.  In a country that now daily bleeds division in terms of political party, religious creed, color, and wealth, it was refreshing to go back to a day of devastation and remember the unity that is forged through suffering and pain.  The 11-year old Trish wept for people she had never met, for families she never knew.  It was not anger that drew us together, even though there was a decent amount of that, but it was a mutual love of our own country and the experience of communal woundedness.

I watched most of the CNN live coverage of 9/11.  Story after story, I read about firefighters who offered themselves for those they had a responsibility to protect.  For my students, this is an event they learn about in history class, something foreign to them that they are told is important.  Yet for me it is a defining moment of the age I grew up in.  It is one of those memorable historic events that makes an impression on young and old souls alike.

Despite my love for my nation, conflicted and tormented though it be at times, I cannot simply stop at recalling 9/11.  I must extend this awareness of suffering and warfare to those around the world.  The Syrian refugees who are fleeing, the conflict in the Middle East, the impact of radical Islam on their neighboring Christians.  September 11th is but one of the instances of humanity willingly inflicting pain on humanity.  On that day of national remembrance, I led a prayer with my students, pleading for peace for the whole world.  It isn't as though there are just wounds that are fourteen years old, there are daily wounds being made, blood still pouring out, "the voice of your brother's blood is crying...from the ground." (Gen. 4:10)  And the Lord is asking, "What have you done?"  It is not enough to recall, we must respond.

Peace is fervently needed.  Our world is aching for peace, our country's deep-seated tension is pleading for peace, our families are battle-weary, and our very souls are hungry for internal unity.  Global peace is only attained through the soul-peace being achieved by each person.  When we experience honesty and integrity in the most difficult areas of our life.  When I cease to battle against the Lord of my soul and seek to understand my very self in way that may seem frightening or off-putting.

As we sift back through the memories of old hurts, of the traumas of humanity, may we also experience a renewed desire for peace and hearts of compassion to encounter those in their war-torn moments.  May our yearning for union override our wanting to win at all costs.  May the Queen of Peace pour grace and mercy upon our world that will bring us to unwavering peace, starting with our own souls. 

To Apologize

After three years of teaching high school Apologetics, I believe I understand the concept.

The idea of going into a full-out debate about religion, is a little frightening to me, even with a Theology degree and three years of teaching experience.  My fear is partly because I don't like tension-filled debates; I prefer discussions.

Outside of the classroom, I have had three notable theological discussions in the past year.  They were good experiences because I had started thinking that I teach a class while I have little practical experience with the matter.  Now I am realizing that I do have experience and it happens more often than I realize.  My three "big" discussions were memorable because of the length of time spent talking as well as the breadth of material covered.  Yet a similar experience happens on a more frequent basis--when my students, friends, or family ask a question and I attempt to explain the Church's teaching on the matter.

Nearly as important as knowing the theological answer is one's disposition.  I don't claim to do it perfectly, but I try to listen to them and to not become offended when their belief differs from mine.  While I do want to make my points clear and provide good arguments for my beliefs, I don't need the other person to feel trapped or badgered.  If I wouldn't like to be backed into a corner, then I try not to do the same to the other person.  It isn't being two-faced if you approach issues differently with different people.  My discussions on abortion are incredibly different based on if they are with my immediate family or my students or with a woman in front of an abortion clinic.  The varied people and places required customized responses.  In most situations, there is no one-size-fits-all response, as convenient as that might make things.

I could be wrong about this last assertion, but I believe Apologetics works best when it comes in the context of a relationship.  It is possible to give a talk to a group of strangers and have someone change their heart because of that talk.  But in one-on-one Apologetics, it seems crucial that there be some sort of relationship with the person, a sense of trust that the other person (though they might be wrong) is entering into this discussion out of love and not a desire to just win.  Our family and friends might be some of the most difficult people to engage in conversation, but I think it could be some of the most fruitful.  In my conversation with a friend, we were able to challenge each others positions without becoming offended.  Why?  Because we were able to see that the other person respected us and desired our good, even if they were presenting something contrary to my own beliefs.  The result was a beautiful discussion that still makes me marvel.  I left the conversation knowing that I hadn't completely changed her mind, but rather had given her food for thought.  Walking away, I wished that more in our country could have debates like this.  Not devoid of emotion necessarily, but filled with reasons for belief and presented freely with the understanding that the other person would not attack me for my beliefs.  It is my mental model for how Apologetics can be done.

Even if you do not have a doctorate in Theology or have the ability to quote Scripture off the cuff, you should be engaging in Apologetics.  In the simple truths of explaining why Catholics do what we do.  We engage in Apologetics by striving to live the Christianity that Christ proclaimed--with humility, gentleness, self-control, love, boldness, zeal, and a willingness to suffer persecution for the sake of the Gospel.  And we engage those around us, in our imperfect, unique, striving-after-more ways.  You might be the only Gospel someone encounters.  Live it well.

Asking "Why?"

One of things I've come to realize is that I often need to guide myself in processing my own feelings.  Sometimes I feel things and I acknowledge what I feel, but then I stop there.  I don't go into asking myself why I feel that way.  It can almost seem silly to do that.  If you get in a fight and are angry, of course it was the fight that was the impetus for the anger you now feel.  Yet I'm learning that I need to ask myself why I feel a specific emotion, and then begin the process of sorting through what exactly made me feel that way.

The problem isn't necessarily solved just because I thought about why I was feeling a particular way, but it often is the first step in the process.  Sometimes it takes a while to pinpoint what exactly it was that triggered my response.  The information isn't always exactly welcomed information because it often reveals an area of weakness within myself, something that I thought I had sufficiently covered or fixed.  Yet it is a starting point, nonetheless.  Ideally, I can acknowledge what I feel, relate it to the Lord, understand why I feel that way, and receive His grace to carry on.  Interestingly enough, that is quite a bit like a prayer I've prayed with many times--the A.R.R.R. prayer.

"A.R.R.R. stands for—Acknowledge, Relate, Receive, Respond.

You have sat with God’s Word.  You have entered into the scene. Now, once you feel God is saying something to you, acknowledge what stirs within you. Pay attention to your thoughts, feelings, and desires. These are important.

Once you’ve acknowledged what’s going on inside your heart, relate this to God. Don’t just think about what’s going on. Don’t simply think about God. Don’t think about how God might react. Relate to God. Tell him how you feel. Tell him what you think. Tell him what you want. Share all your thoughts, feelings, and desires with God. Share everything with Him.

Once you’ve shared everything with God, receive. Listen to what He’s telling you. It could be a subtle voice you hear. It could be a memory that pops up. Maybe He invites you to re-read the Scripture passage. Perhaps you feel something in your body. Perhaps he invites you into a still, restful, silence. Trust that God is listening to you and receive what He wants to share with you.

Now respond however you want. It could be more conversation.  It could be a resolution.  It could be tears or laughter. Respond to what you’re receiving."

(courtesy of: http://priestlyformation.org/resources/resources-from-ipf-staff/fr-mark-toups/nativity/how-to-use-this-resource/)