"Saweet Story!" - In Which My Sister Is Awesome. Go Figure.

So, I was preparing a collection of miscellany for you, which will be out eventually. However, in the midst of my collecting, I was interrupted by an explosion of amazingness which emanated from the direction of my sister Martha. In fact, all of my sisters are quite brilliant, each in their own way. Therefore, this, please note, was not at all unusual.  However, this one was especially EPIC and I made her type it up for me so she could be my very first guest poster! Buckle up, folks - this gal is Big News. I couldn't resist throwing in a few random comments (in bold italics) when she gets particularly mind-blowingly brilliant, because...it's my blog and I can do what I want and I don't want you to risk missing the mind-blowing-ness of her brilliance.

In case you haven't seen lately, this is her:

I know, right? 

We're referring to the other lady simply as "Nurse" for her privacy.

P.S. If you don't know what a medical abbreviation means - don't ask me. I don't know all this smarty stuff. I just know she's brilliant. So, look it up or find Martha.

Anyway. Commence the explosion:

----------------------------------------------------

For my mission trip to El Salvador I am required to get as many necessary vaccines as possible (Ex. Hep A. Hep B, Varicella, etc.). But because of our awesome Mom I know that, as a Catholic, I am morally obligated to refuse some of them due to the fact that they contain aborted fetal cells. There are some special circumstances where exceptions are acceptable, but now is not one of them.

So I go into Kelsey Seybold for my foreign travel vaccinations because my PCP doesn't have some of the required vaccines.

Thinking that I was going to have to argue with the nurse about what vaccines to get I was slightly irritated.

Before my appointment time I was told to bring in any previous vaccination paperwork.

After being called back the following interaction transpired:

I could tell the nurse was having a long day and her attitude... Well, lets just say she was slightly peeved.

So I was trying to be un-irritatingly cheery (Dad does that when people are upset, and 10 out of 10 times he gets 'em to smile.) True Story, y'all.

Nurse - "Where's your paperwork?"

Me - "I don't have any."

Nurse - "Yes, you do. Childhood vaccinations! You have those records. You have to."

Me - "I was never vaccinated as a child. I've only received Meningitis vaccine for school and only my PCP needs that so I didn't bring it in."

Nurse - "Oh. You were never vaccinated? Strange."

Hoping she would ask why I anxiously waited to answer questions because I have A LOT of answers! But... She didn't.

Nurse - "The front desk didn't give you anything to fill out?"

Me - "No Ma'am"

Now, she was really peeved... So I was super chill and filled out the paperwork. (No lie, she is super chill.)

She put a few things in the computer and found out I was doing this for missionary work and she loosened up a bit.

So, then we started going over each vaccination and why I needed to receive each one. I refused the first four and she still had not asked why I was refusing them. I was tired of waiting! So I hit her with it:

Me - "I'm Catholic."

Nurse - "Oh! Me too!"

Me - "Oh, so you know why I'm refusing these?"

Nurse - "No, actually..."

Me - "When I was little my Mom did a lot of research to try and determine the Church teaching on vaccinations. 

She discovered that some of them came from and contain aborted fetal cell tissue. So that's why I'm refusing some of these."

Nurse - "No, no they don't."

Me - "Actually, they do. The cultures for the vaccine came from two babies. MRC-5 and WI-38. (Y'all, she knew that OFF THE TOP OF HER HEAD.) Many other aborted babies were used for the testing as well."

Nurse - "Where did she get that information from? How old is that?"

Me - "You can just look it up on the internet. It's at least 26 yrs old 'cause that's how old my oldest sister is."

Nurse - "Wow. I can't believe that!"

Me - "It's pretty crazy."

Nurse - "I've been a nurse for 37 yrs and I go to [Mass] every Sunday, and I have never heard that before."

Me - "Yeah, the Church has a teaching on it, there are some exceptions to the rule but generally these particular vaccines needs to be avoided."

Feeling proud of myself for giving her this information, God put me back in place when she started telling me this:

Nurse - "Ya know, my mother died from an abortion."

My heart sank.

Me - "Oh, I'm so sorry."

Nurse - "And my daughter had an abortion when she was 19 and I regret it to this day."

Me - "Oh, God... (At this point I was praying)

Nurse - "We were going through alot of stuff at the time, my Dad was really sick and I just didn't think she could handle it. But that was 10 yrs ago. I still think about it every day."

At this point I'm trying not to cry. 3 out of 4 people in her family who've been involved in an abortion have died: her mom, her sibling, and her grandchild. 75%. Those aren't good odds.

Me - "Ohhh, I'm so sorry."

Nurse - "I talk with my husband all the time and He always says 'God has forgiven us, just move on.' But I can't... It just breaks my heart."

Me - "I can't imagine, what that's like. You know, my sister works at the Houston Coalition for Life...

(excuse me, but - DUDE! She's being totally brilliant and I was in her mind at the same time as all this amazingness! I was way honored when she told me) 

....and they have a bus sitting outside of Planned Parenthood on I-45. And I've learned a lot from her working there. (!!!!) And I think because you were going through such a hectic time and the reasons you and your daughter had the abortion you didn't have time to grieve for the baby. You are grieving now. But one of the beauties of being Catholic is Confession. That is a really important part of the grieving process that you're experiencing right now. And I also think you should sit down with your daughter and talk about what happened."

Nurse - "We actually have talked about it and I told her that if she had told me even once that she didn't want to have the abortion, we wouldn't have done it. But because she was... well essentially she was raped, I just didn't think she could deal with that... So we didn't talk about it then."

Me - "Well, I think its good that you've discussed it. You know there's a cemetery..."

Nurse - "Yes, the Cemetery for the Unborn. Yes, I go there all the time. I take flowers. So does my daughter. I don't know how often, but..."

Me - "That's good, I'm glad you're doing that, I think it's so awesome that they have that cemetery there for people to be able to do that. You could also think about naming the baby, too. I think that's a really great way to sort of have something concrete to hold on to and grasp whenever you're thinking about it."

Nurse - "Yeah, yeah, well she's married now and has two kids. But there's not a day that goes by when I don't think about what we could have done differently."

Me - "Well it sounds like you're trying! That's important, so keep trying."

Then she told me about her two other daughters and her son. (She was "selling" her son, haha!) I got to see pictures of children and grandchildren.

My appointment took 1 1/2 hrs and it should have taken 20-45 minutes.

I got my Typhoid vaccine and she told me to come back from my mission with pictures so she could see them.

And we went our separate ways.

We both started out frustrated and both left emotionally exhausted but smiling. I just think it's such a crazy story!!

----------------------------------------------------

So, there you have it. My Mart being an absolutely brilliant example of what pro-lifers need to be: compassionate, informed, reasonable, gentle, eager to share the truth, all while being humble. 

Also a brilliant example of what Catholics need to be: compassionate, informed, reasonable, gentle, eager to share the truth, all while being humble.

She makes me proud. She also makes me want to try harder to be all of the those things, too.

'Nuff said.

What you need to be Smart like Mart (provided by Mart, notes by Mart):

1. http://www.cogforlife.org/fetalvaccinetruth.htm (General Website)

2. http://www.cogforlife.org/fetalvaccinetruth.htm#The_Abortions_and_Intention_of_Creating_Vaccines_ (Specific Page MAIN ARTICLE)

3. http://www.cogforlife.org/fetalvaccines.htm (Great Chart!)

4. http://www.cogforlife.org/2011/01/01/religious-conscience-aborted-fetal-vaccines/ (Extra Article)

5. http://vactruth.com/2010/09/20/aborted-human-fetal-cells-in-vaccines/ (Extra Article)

I guess Job wasn't a redhead...

SO, you may be wondering where I've been...

Or not. I mean, you absolutely may not have noticed that I haven't blogged in nearly 2 1/2 months. It's not like a blog prolifically anyway. But if you did notice, I can explain myself.

To make a long and complicated story unjustly short: about the time I started thinking up a new post (which I still hope to eventually write), my brother-in-law was admitted to the hospital and was told he probably had lymphoma. Over a few weeks' time, an inconclusive biopsy result led to a splenectomy, then a few emergency surgeries and various extremely serious complications. He's still in the hospital, and we're still waiting on his biopsy results, as well as trying to learn the fall-out of all the complications that have arisen.

At the beginning of this time, my older sister (the one who made him my brother-in-law) and their three little boys came to stay at our house. We, I am very happy to say, still have them with us, and those little hooligans are changing my life and heart every day. We're having tons of fun adventures now that a few grueling moments are fading away.

But in order for you to be able to appreciate the fun adventures, I'ma relate some of the grueling moments for you. (You can thank me later. Or not. Skip over this part if you want. Whatever.)

One fateful afternoon, my dad took the boys out for a little drive. And the middle nephew threw up in the car.

A lot.

(No, seriously, guys, his car seat smelled for days).

Well, I imagine at least that it smelled for days. It definitely smelled the next day, when one of my younger sisters and I did some epic maneuvering and wedged all three nephew-car-seats into my 4Runner for some time out of the house.

(I'd like to note by the time we had wedged said seats in, we climbed into the front seats feeling very triumphant at our brilliant success, stuck the key in, started the car...then looked at each other blankly trying to recall our intended destination. After several minutes of playing Tetris with toddler boosting devices, within seconds I gained some profound insights into the life of moms-with-toddlers. Ya'll are freakishly amazing. Just sayin'.)

Anyway.

Middle nephew seemed fairly fine by this point. I mean, yeah, he threw up the afternoon before. Oh, yeah, and the evening before.

At dinner.

In my hands.

Awesome.

But really, by the next day, toddler-Tetris day, he seemed totally chill and non-vomity.

So away we went.

To McDonald's.

I hate McDonald's.

But whatever, kids like that stuff, right? And the sister I was with liked it, and I figured, golly gee, surely I can find ONE THING on the menu that doesn't LOOK like processed chicken guts to eat.

Mehhh...not so much. Approximately two bites later I was done, and the rest of the afternoon tried to pep-talk myself into thinking the queasy feeling in my stomach was nothing more than a mental reaction to eating McDonald's food...and by food I mean whatever it actually is they give you to eat there.

Anyway.

By bedtime there was no more pep-talking. I was straight-up nauseated. And by midnight, I was doin' what Middle Nephew had been doin' about 24 hours earlier.

(As an aside, this is why I don't know whether or not his car seat actually smelled for days, because a day later I was myself bed-ridden. Probably did smell though.)

Anyway.

And then another sister caught the sickness.

And Oldest Nephew.

And then ANOTHER sister caught it. (What? I have a lot of them).

Turns out we had discovered some kind of epic-ly horrific little bug that caused about 12 hours of flu-ish-ness, then 12 hours of fever that left your body feeling like you let yourself get sunburned and then scrubbed off with sandpaper, (cool, right?) and then about two days of aches, fatigue and a vague queasiness.

I know, you're wishing you had discovered this epic super-bug yourself because it sounds totally legendary, no? Well, sorry to disappoint, but I think we definitely discovered it. We even named it: The Plague.

Sounds official, right?

Anyway.

Multiple family members being stricken by this new edition of the plague led to my beleaguered (perfect word, look it up) older sister having to stay with our aunt and uncle. She couldn't be around us sickos, including her precious babies, because her husband was in the ICU and if she got sick, there would be no one to go keep the doctors in line (and believe you me, they needed line-keeping). So my amazing sis kept up with her baby boys via FaceTime (thank you, Apple iPads), kept working her actual day job, AND basically kept her husband alive by marshalling the smart-but-renegade medical profession into the closest semblance of order ever achieved by large masses of M.D.s.

Meanwhile, in case you're interested, my mom had a respiratory infection.

No, really. She did. I'm not this imaginative, I could not possibly be making this up.

During this time, I had a thought.

(Me having a thought at this time is more impressive than you might think. The Plague had got me pretty good.)

Here it is:

Job (ya know, Bible dude) was probably not a redhead.

See, the intro to the book of Job in the NAB states:

"Job, an oriental chieftain, pious and upright, richly endowed in his own person and in domestic prosperity, suffers a sudden and complete reversal of fortune. 

(No kidding.)

He loses his property and his children; a loathsome disease afflicts his body; and sorrow oppresses his soul. Nevertheless, Job does not complain against God. 

(I don't think I had actually complained by this point...)

When some friends visit him to condole with him, Job protests his innocence and does not understand why he is afflicted. He curses the day of his birth and longs for death to bring an end to his sufferings."

"Curses the day of his birth"? "Longs for death"? Uhh...I can definitely understand having that totally legit reaction. But it was not my reaction.

As I dragged myself around the house on day 3 of The Plague to wash dishes, switch laundry, and make bottles (don't get some heroic idea of me in yo head here: everybody else was at work, sicker than me, or equally sick, ya do whatcha gotta do), I had an overwhelming desire in my head. Much stronger than you might have imagined, considering the over-all weakness of my state.

"If I were to see the devil right now," I thought calmly, "There is a particular finger of my hand with which I would wish to salute him."

No, really. I thought that exact thing. I wasn't mad at God. I wasn't cursing the day of my birth. I wasn't even particularly discouraged. Frustrated, sure. Admittedly, I was vaguely annoyed with the devil for raking my family over the coals and I felt like telling him where he could take his self and his nonsense...until I realized that would be kinda pointless since he's stuck there anyway.

See, this is my typical response: there are a few of my gal pals you could ask for confirmation of this, but when stuff like this happens to them, I remind them of a phrase I got from a priest's blog (he's a lovely priest and very solid, so I feel justified in using it): illegitimi non carborundum. Which, according to Wikipedia, "is a mock-Latin aphorism meaning 'Don't let the bastards grind you down.'" 

Now THAT is more my style.

I still felt that same way at week's end when, just as the Plague-stricken half of the family were beginning to recover, the plumbing in the house backed up and sent dirty water gushing across our pantry floor.

I looked across the kitchen at my dad after we had used nearly enough towels to mop up Clear Lake and said drily, "Even the house is throwing up."

That statement became a big Facebook sensation, for the record.

Within days, four more of my peeps came down with our little super-bug (I know, such a tenacious little monster, that Plague). I was still not discouraged. Worn out, yeah, but definitely still feeling middle-finger-y in the general direction of the devil.

Then, we thought one of my sisters was catching The Plague a SECOND time. As in, EVERYBODY had gotten sick (except the one sister who NEVER gets sick) and then recovered. So I had JUST carried a fearsome array of bleach-y, sanitizing chemicals into the bathroom we'd delegated to sickos, when I stepped out for a moment, and she rushed in...to throw up.

I literally sunk down on my knees, put my head on the floor, and listened to my poor sister be very, very sick. Again.

I sat there feeling pretty dang miserable and exhausted for about three seconds.

Then I felt a few gentle little pats on my head.

I looked up and saw Middle Nephew staring at me with his huge blue eyes. He's about 20 months old, but he doesn't believe in speaking a whole lot, so for a while he just stared wordlessly.

"Dee Dee?" he squeaked. (He just named me that. It's pretty much the best thing ever, and my heart just turns into a puddle every time he says it.)

"Yes, baby?"

He scootched over and wiggled into my arms, pointing imperiously at the bookshelf.

"Weed?"

Sigh.

"Okay, I'll read."

So, we start reading his little "Head, Shoulders, Knees & Toes" Sesame Street book.

Now, it's important to know, this outrageously cute child could not keep his nose and toes straight. You ask him to show you nose or toes and no telling which one you get.

Then, we get to the toes page, and he has an epiphany.

He smacked his little palm on the page and says, huge eyes even huger, "TOES."

"Yeah, those are his toes. And these are your toes, and these are my toes."

We've done this before, ya know?

But this time was different.

"TOES," he says, awestruck, grabbing his own little toesies. Then, he jumped up, raced down my leg to my foot, stuck his little one against mine, and shrieked triumphantly: "TOES!!"

You ever seen that Helen Keller movie, The Miracle Worker? There's this moment where Helen suddenly understands the sign language and races around signing everything. That's exactly what happened to Middle Nephew. He was SO excited.

He suddenly understood toes.

And, just like that, I got my fight back. On the outside, I'm squeaking and giggling about toes with this awesomely brilliant little boy, and on the inside I was all miss sassy pants: "Look at this, devil - look at us. The baby knows his toes. We are ok. You. Cannot. Keep. Us. Down."

So in the past few weeks, I have learned a few things. Things which probably any mother could have told me if I had known to ask, and which I will possibly have to learn again when I have my own kids. But for now, here it is:

1. People are amazing. The food they bring you week after week, the prayers they say, the encouragement they give, the cards they send...amazing.
2. If you're going to throw up a lot, it's at least nice to know you're still in the family you'd pick to be throwing up with, if anybody had asked you about that ahead of time.
3. NEVER clean up The Plague with the green container of Clorox wipes. The smells don't blend well. *gag*
4. ALWAYS use the yellow container of Clorox wipes. Lemony-bleach scent covers a multitude of germs and...well, ya know.
5. You cannot actually wash your hands off, after all.
6. You CAN wash your hands dry. At which point if you hate lotion, it suddenly becomes your new best friend.
7. If your nephew who doesn't speak much gives you a name, that is your name. Forget anything anybody ever called you before. A 20-month-old voice saying something which is meant to address your own specific person is the Most Beautiful Sound Ever.
8. There are a freakish amount of Goldfish flavors. I mean, a LOT of different ones, y'all.
9. You will instantly stop missing your former single's social life of evenings out at nice restaurants if you can hand a toddler a blackberry on a nature walk and see his little face light up, then bring him home streaked in purple juice. Forget the fancy food. Blackberries for babies brings a lot more joy.
10. If your nephew plops down in the middle of a gravel path on your nature walk, that is ok. Just plop down and enjoy the Goldfish. He probably will not want to do this in about 10 years, so enjoy it.
11. If The Bastard is trying to getcha down...read a book to a toddler. Things will get worked out. God likes you reading books to toddlers even in moments of crisis plus, He can handle the devil better than you anyway.
12. Toddlers are one of God's best ideas, they can really teach you a lot. 

Maybe not brilliant, but there it is - my life lessons for the past few weeks. I know a lot of you have been praying for us, and some of you are the ones who've brought us food...thank you. You're blessing and encouraging us.

"Let God be the air in which your heart breathes at ease."

- St. Francis de Sales

All mah single ladees...

It's February 5th.

Quick, what's happening in 9 days?

Ahw, come on - chill out. It's not that hard.

There is no reason to freak out that much about the feast of St. Cyril and St. Methodius.

What? You knew I was talking about them, right?

I'm just kidding. Well, kinda - February 14th actually is the feast of St. Cyril and St. Methodius.

Also another guy...perhaps you have heard of him?

Ahh, yes - this guy:

Romantic-looking holy card, no?

And for the record, St. Valentine's day is not THAT scary.

Yeah, I said it. SAINT Valentine's day.

Please note, I did not say:

S.A.D. (for those of you not aware, this stands for Singles Awareness Day)
Happy Heart Day
FillInTheBlankWithWhateverNOTSaintRelatedFluffYouHadInMind

Why, yes, I am feeling snarky. How did you know?

Okay, so, St. Valentine's Day is one of those "things". You know, one of those "things" that's all red and pink and sparkle and roses and candlelight and cute and mushy and "YAY!" except for single girls it's kind of really, really...not.

I walked into Wal-Mart a few weeks ago (yeah, A FEW WEEKS AGO) and there were already about three aisles full of fuschia-glitter-covered-fal-de-rol right up by the doors.

Awesome.

Theory: I think most Catholic girls know when Ash Wednesday falls in relation to St. Valentine's Day. Either because:

1. They're in a relationship with a Totally Rad Catholic Dude and want to know if they'll be able to eat the Very Expensive Chocolate he's definitely going to get them (if he's smart, but he's Totally Rad so obviously he's smart enough to know Very Expensive Chocolate is in order), OR 
2. Because they are completely aware that it's actually really irrelevant because there is no Totally Rad Catholic Dude planning on buying them chocolate either way, so Lent might as well come before V-day because then you've got the jump on the whole commercialized pink-and-red deal and it doesn't stinking matter that there is no one to buy the Very Expensive Chocolate because you aren't eating ANY chocolate or doing red-and-pink stuff during Purple Season anyway. So there.

I'm only sort of kidding about this.

I will admit freely (sheepishly, but freely) to seeing the three aisles at Wal-Mart and thinking words that are best left un-repeated by as-far-as-you-know-nice girls like me.

See, I know several completely amazing, truly beautiful, crazy talented, hysterically funny, terribly charming, Christ-following young women.

Oh, and some of them are unmarried, too.

A lot of them are married. I have lots of married friends. Girls I grew up with have kids. (As an aside: WEIRD.) I've even been in a few weddings. Four, to be precise.

And I love doing that. I love watching my friends be found, won over, swept off their feet, married, and havin' babies. That there is what the good Lord intended. Good men romancing my sweet friends is one of the greatest joys I have.

AND, (not but, not instead of, AND) there are those moments where the little family-of-my-own-shaped ache gets a little harder to work around. The longing for my own family is one I believe God has placed in my heart. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what His desires for me are, and after a lot of trying He made it clear. He has a vocation planned for each of us, and for most of us, it's marriage. I don't think He puts that desire for a family on hold until *poof* Mr. Right appears. I think God perfects that desire by planting it in us, and then letting it grow, giving it a chance to gain some endurance, channeling it towards service for His glory in the in-between-times while we wait on His fulfillment of that desire.

All of which I really do believe, very little of which is an instant salve for the ache that stirs up at the sight of the approaching pink-and-red-and-roses-romance with which society celebrates a day whose meaning has been long-forgotten by most of us.

There's plenty of backstory. You can look up Lupercalia and the She-Wolf and the fertility rites and the god Pan and his followers and so on and try to sort it out. Feel free.

You can look up St. Valentine and find out there are more than one. Seriously.

Or, you could just read this, which explains it all very clearly and briefly.

Long story short - Valentine, before his martyrdom, was known for risking his life to confer the Sacrament of Matrimony on young couples who desired it after the Roman Emperor outlawed marriages.

So, in a way he is a martyr in defense of marriage, something like St. John the Baptist or St. Thomas More.


Pretty hard-core, no?

Other stories about Valentine note his deep care and concern for those weaker or more helpless than him, in particular (after his arrest) his fellow prisoners and his jailer's family.

Here comes what I've been getting at.

My lovely friend Katie, who has inspired blog posts in the past, set a beautiful example for me without, I think, even meaning to. This actually happens a lot. The particular time I'm thinking of was a St. Valentine's day a few years ago.


She sent me a Valentine. Like, a legit care package Valentine.

She sends me packages kinda regularly, she actually sends them to a lot of people. She's one of those completely amazing, truly beautiful, crazy talented, hysterically funny, terribly charming, Christ-following young women I mentioned earlier, plus she is really, really good at taking care of people. Me included.

That Valentine pretty much made my day. And the week. And maybe longer.

And it gave me an idea: we may not always remember it, but St. Valentine's day is partly about celebrating the love of a man who gave freely to those who suffered alongside him. He could easily have focused on what he was waiting around for (release, or death), but instead he threw himself into a service that focused with laser intensity and immeasurable love.

The next year, I gave it a try. In my own, small-scale way: focus on others. Instead of moping about St. Valentine's day, (or at least as much as I would have otherwise) I went shopping. I bought all kinds of things I really, really like. Very Expensive Chocolate, among other things. Pretty cards. Fun goodies.

Boxed it all up, and sent the little packages away.

I had So. Much. Fun.

Not only putting the boxes together, but in getting the responses from the girls I had sent them too. I kept hearing excitement exactly like the excitement with which I had responded to my dear friend Katie the year before. It was a total blast.

And I realized, that's what St. Valentine is really an example of: the kind of of love that focuses on others, on trying to serve them, on directing the hurts and aches and longings of your own heart into acts of care for others who might be feeling the same.

So, this year, after about two minutes of wallowing in self-pitying-singleness, I remembered how much fun St. Valentine's day really can be - and went shopping. :)

Now, I'm not advocating buying into consumerism or anything here. You can have a lot of fun and spread a lot of pink-and-red-cheer for real cheap. But just give it a try. It's better then a distraction: it's a direction. A direction of the energy and passion you will someday be able to pour into a romance if God hasn't sent you one yet, and practicing that care for others will only serve your marriage in the long run.

Forget "Singles Awareness Day," I've got my glittery, sparkly, chocolatey stash almost ready to go...and I can hardly wait for St. Valentine's day.

In the meantime, today is the day to start a novena!! (What, you thought the nine-days-until remark at the beginning was a coincidence?)

Prayer to Saint Valentine

O glorious advocate and protector, 

Saint Valentine,

look with pity upon our wants,

hear our requests, 

attend to our prayers,

relieve by your intercession 

the miseries under which we labor,

and obtain for us the divine blessing,

that we may be found worthy to join you

in praising the Almighty for all

eternity; through the merits of

Our Lord Jesus Christ.

Amen.

What I have in common with Indiana Jones...and Stuff

I was 12 when The Fellowship of the Ring came out. It was the first PG-13 movie I ever saw, and that was only allowed because I'd read it 5 times.

PG-13 previews are still PG-13 though. Those were usually what got me. Twelve years later I still shut my eyes for some of them.

For example, somewhere about 13 or 14 years old they were showing a preview for something called "Anaconda: Hunt for the Blood Orchid." The title is sort of seared into my brain because the preview was kinda a traumatic experience: there was a snake in it. A really big one.

And I stopped breathing. 

I'm not actually sure at what point the non-breathing thing happened, but somewhere along the line of this massive serpent slithering in the depths of a river below a boat full of people ridiculously dwarfed by its size, I just froze, respiratory system and all, and didn't even realize it until the preview ended and it hit me that inhaling would be a really, really good idea.

As it turns out, I am afraid of snakes. Unreasonably, terribly, hugely, non-breathingly afraid of snakes. 

I am somewhat consoled by the fact that I share this weakness with Indiana Jones. WIN.

I'd been considering this lately because a while back someone referred to me as "fearless."

Uhhm...not so much.

It was a reasonable mistake. I'm sort of a little freak and a lot of what I guess would be considered "normal" fears I'm just too dumb to have, and the ones I DO have are mostly the result of pride and therefore rather more difficult to see.

For starters, let's talk about public speaking.

I don't really know much about Jerry Seinfeld, but I hear he does say some funny things. Like: 

"I read a thing that actually says that speaking in front of a crowd 

is considered the number one fear of the average person. 

I found that amazing – number two was death! That means to the average person 

if you have to be at a funeral, you would rather be in the casket than doing the eulogy.”

On the one hand, I just went to confession yesterday so at the moment I'm kinda chill with being in the casket, but as far as a fear of speaking in front of a crowd...

I. LOVE. Speaking to crowds.

Amazingly much, actually. Like adrenaline junkies love skydiving, I love speaking to crowds. I know, it's weird. Probably kind of dumb. But useful.

See, there are plenty of things about my job that, humanly speaking, probably should make me kind of nervous, but they don't. That's all God, and I'm grateful for it. 

But there are plenty of things which I'm as scared of as the next person, if not more.

I'm afraid of confronting people I like. If I like them I want them to think I am sweet and nice and likable too. If it's somebody I love on the receiving end who might be hurt, I'm afraid of reprimanding or "teachable moments" or hard truths. I'd rather take a hit or be lonely then confront a bad situation if it means estrangement from somebody I'd rather protect. I'm afraid of trusting people if others have let me down in the past. I'm afraid of hoping for things I'm afraid will never happen. I'm afraid of letting people down, of disappointing them. I've even been afraid of not being brave enough.

But, what if I weren't?

See, I'm not sure fearlessness is the answer to all of this. In fact, I'm pretty convinced it's not.

My proof? The four cardinal virtues: "Prudence, justice, temperance, and fortitude."

Fortitude. 

Not fearlessness.

Not a lot of people really use that word any more, which is kind of a shame. It's a great word. Some of the definitions:

"Courage in face of pain or adversity."

"Strength of mind that enables a person to encounter danger 

or bear pain or adversity with courage."

"Mental and emotional strength in facing difficulty, adversity, 

danger, or temptation courageously."

So, basically, courage. And what is courage?

"The ability to confront fear, pain, danger, uncertainty, or intimidation."

"Mental or moral strength to venture, persevere, and withstand danger, fear, or difficulty."

"The state or quality of mind or spirit that enables one to face danger, fear, 

or vicissitudes with self-possession, confidence, and resolution; bravery."

Ain't nothin' in there about fearlessness. In fact, that looks like a lot of fearful things. Pain, uncertainty, danger, difficulty, vicissitudes (Google it, awesome word). Fear.

But what if we weren't afraid?

Or better yet, what if we didn't have to be afraid? 

Here's my logic: fear is a result of sin. The Original Sin. So, in a way, it's kind of in our DNA now. It has become our natural, fallen state. Genesis 3:10 gives us Adam's first words to God after The Fall: 

"I heard You in the Garden, but I was afraid, because I was naked, so I hid myself."

After some introspection I recognize my own voice in those words.

"I saw You coming, but it looked intimidating, so I closed in on myself. I saw You pointing that way, but it looked scary, so I will just stay here. I heard You speaking, but what You asked sounded uncomfortable, so I will find a lot of noise to fill my ears instead and help me numb the longing to draw closer to You. Because I've messed up, big time - I know it and You know it, but I can't stand to see the disappointment in Your eyes. I can't stand to run the risk of failing You again...Because I am afraid, and I just don't want to move."

When I give Him half a chance, His still, small voice slips through, "But, what if you weren't?"

The Imitation of Christ contains a beautiful story:

"There was once a man who was very anxious, and wavered between fear and hope. One day, overcome with sadness, he lay prostrate in prayer before the altar in church, and pondering these matters in his mind, said, `Oh, if only I knew that I should always persevere!' then he heard within his heart an answer from God: `If you knew this, what would you do? Do now what you would then, and all will be well.' So, comforted and strengthened, he committed himself to the will of God, and his anxious uncertainty vanished. Nor did he wish any longer to inquire into what would happen to him, but strove the more earnestly to learn the perfect and acceptable will of God, whenever he began or undertook any good work."

What if you weren't afraid?

How would you serve? How would you stand out? How would you defend the innocent? How would you speak the Truth? How would you say His Name...if you weren't afraid?

Maybe trust is what happens when we recognize that we are afraid - and then leap towards God in spite of our fear.

Those quiet longings, those half-smothered wishes that stir up in our hearts when we dare to think what might happen if we weren't so very, very afraid...I believe that oftentimes, those are the desires that most closely mirror the ones He has for us.

So what would happen if we acted on our trust, instead of our fear? What if we did what would most delight the heart of the Father and really just trusted Him? What if we took the example of His saints seriously when they said things like, 

"The joy of the LORD is my strength."

"It is not the actual physical exertion that counts towards one's progress, 

nor the nature of the task, but by the spirit of faith with which it is undertaken." 

- Saint Francis Xavier

“One life is all we have and we live it as we believe in living it. 

But to sacrifice what you are and to live without belief, that is a fate more terrible than dying.” 

- St. Joan of Arc

"When you draw close to our Lord, remember that He is always very close to you, that He is in you: The Kingdom of God is within you. You will find Him in your heart...Put out into deep water! Throw aside the pessimism that makes a coward of you...And pay out your nets for a catch! We have to place our trust in our Lord's words: get into the boat, take the oars, hoist the sails and launch out into this sea of the world which Christ gives us as an inheritance - His kingdom will have no end. Doesn't it fill you with joy to work for such a kingdom?"

- St. Josemaria Escriva

"Be Not Afraid! Open up, no; swing wide the gates to Christ. Open up to his saving power the confines of the State, open up economic and political systems, the vast empires of culture, civilization and development... Be not afraid!"

- Blsd. John Paul II

But wait! There's more...

Okay, this is part dos, so if you didn't see the first part it's here.

Also, I stumbled across this interesting little bit of information about his name.

Now, to the great secret of Pier Giorgio Frassati: how in the world did such an incredibly normal, red-blooded young man end up beautified?

Two words: Heroic. Virtue.

See, my theory is this: if it's not a struggle, how can it be heroic? Pier Giorgio was normal in his interests, in his likes and dislikes, in his appearance. It was his approach to living that led to sanctity.

The testimonies from acquintances after his death described his unfailing good example, his unswerving readiness to defend the faith, his conviction that all things must be ordered to God, his dedication to bringing society and his country back to the morals God had written on the human heart.

He was high-spirited without being crude, exuberant without overindulging, in love with Catholicism without being hypocritical, passionate and patriotic without being excessively violent.

He might have been rambunctious, but the magnestism others found so irresistible in him came from the soul of a mystic, filled to the brim with the joy of knowing Christ and spilling over with the purest love imaginable. 

He was a proud card-carrying member of a nocturnal Adoration society, and was known to spend entire nights kneeling in profound adoration of the Blessed Sacrament.

The meager allowance his wealthy father gave him was passed on to the poor, and he made countless visits on behalf of the St. Vincent de Paul Society. He'd even give away his bus allowance to beggars, and end up running home. It's almost guaranteed that in at least most, if not all, of the pictures above he has somewhere on his person the pocket-size Epistles of St. Paul he was notorious for carrying and referencing with great affection.

He had special permission to be a daily communicant, which was rare in those days, His family didn't understand his devotion, and his parents almost didn't approve the original request from his spiritual director to allow a then-teenaged boy to receive the Eucharist daily. His mother was concerned it would make him overly-pious. Many of us take it for granted now, but it was more difficult then: remember, the fast began at midnight. If he couldn't get to Mass until the evening he simply wouldn't eat all day. But he never let himself miss. He would skip his beloved skiing trips if his friends' schedule called for a departure so early he couldn't make morning Mass.

And if you're still looking for somebody "normal," he even had a disappointed heart. He was very, very much in love with a young woman named Laura. His sister Luciana described it to her fiance in a letter: 

"Yesterday he came to me with his great black eyes and told me he loved a girl..."

But he never pursued her, because he discovered his mother disapproved of Laura's lower class in society. His parents' marriage was on shaky ground, and for the sake of preserving some of the peace his family still had, and for the sake of guarding the young woman's heart, Pier Giorgio never let Laura know he felt anything more than friendship for her. He wrote to a close friend: 

"I am reading the novel by Italo Mario Angeloni, Ho Amato Cosi, in which he writes in the first part about his love for an Andalusian woman, and, believe me, I feel a lot because it is like the story of my love. I too have loved like that, only in the novel it is the Andalusian girl who makes the sacrifice, whereas in my case I am the sacrificed, because that is what God wills."

But on June 30th, 1925, the athletic, passionate young man started feeling terribly ill. And five days later, on July 4th, he was dead, stricken by polio.

It has since been surmised that he contracted the disease while visiting his beloved poor for the St. Vincent de Paul society. His famous last action was to beg his sister Luciana to retrieve some vials of medicine and pawn tickets from his coat pocket. The pawn tickets he instructed her to redeem on behalf of some poor people who had been forced to sell their belongings, and for the vials of medicine he painfully scrawled directions with his half-paralyzed hand. They were for a poor man he had been assisting, and in agony on his own deathbed he was anxious that they be delivered, and the poor man not disappointed.

As the son of a famous political figure, it was expected that Turin's upper class would turn out for Pier Giorgio's funeral. But his family was shocked when over a thousand of Turin's poorest turned out as well.

The poor themselves had been surprised - they hadn't realized who their young friend was. Pier Giorgio always called himself Girolamo to them, the name he took when he became a Third Order Dominican a few years before his death.

It was the poor of Turin who petitioned the Archbishop to open a cause for his sanctification, and his family went along with it, stunned to discover this hidden side of the young man they thought they knew.

When Pope John Paul II presided over Pier Giorgio's beautification in 1990, he said the following:

"Faith and charity, the true driving forces of his existence, made him active and diligent…in his family and school, in the university and society; they transformed him into a joyful, enthusiastic apostle of Christ, a passionate follower of his message and charity. In his life, faith was fused with charity: firm in faith and active in charity, because without works, faith is dead. In him faith and daily events are harmoniously fused, so that adherence to the Gospel is translated into loving care for the poor and the needy in a continual crescendo until the very last days of the sickness which led to his death. 

He fulfilled his vocation as a lay Christian in many…political involvements in a society in ferment, a society which was indifferent and sometimes even hostile to the Church.

Receive the message which Pier Giorgio Frassati is sending to the men and women of our day, but especially to you young people, who want to make a concrete contribution to the spiritual renewal of our world, which sometimes seems to be falling apart and wasting away because of a lack of ideals…He repeats that it is really worth giving up everything to serve the Lord. He testifies that holiness is possible for everyone, and that only the revolution of charity can enkindle the hope of a better future in the hearts of people.

Is love not possibly what is most needed in our twentieth century, at its beginning, as well as at its end? Is it perhaps not true that the only thing that lasts, without ever losing its validity, is the fact that a person "has loved"?

He left this world rather young, but he made a mark upon our entire century, and not only on our century." 

"And you, what have you done?"

In which I Explain Myself (a little)

"To defend his purity, Saint Francis of Assisi rolled in the snow, 

Saint Benedict threw himself into a thornbush, 

Saint Bernard plunged into an icy pond.

And you . . . what have you done?"

- St. Josemaria Escriva

"And you...what have you done?"

The first time I read that quote from St. Josemaria, I felt as though it had knocked the wind out of me. 

I'm about to turn 24, and when I saw his words, it was too weird.

See, my Pier Giorgio was 24 when he died. And I'd been thinking about that.

"And you, what have you done?"

Of course, I think about my Pier Giorgio pretty regularly anyway, so the fact that our ages came up was not terribly extraordinary. This is not morbid. It's a milestone. He was "ready" when he was 24. He was doing everything he could to strive for holiness. In fact, Blessed John Paul II described him once as "wresting holiness from everyday life."

"And you, what are you doing?"

Well...ehhh...not exactly that. 

Sometimes, sure. I try, yeah. 

But, believe you me, there's more than plenty of work to do.

Now, before you get all irate on me: YES, I am aware that God gives different graces to every soul. YES, I am aware that my path to holiness will be unique. HOWEVER, the saints are part of God's plan to get us to Heaven, and I think a little healthy introspection is not misplaced. But introspection is not what I'm talking about this time. 

No, this post is for my Pier Giorgio.

 Many of you are already (very keenly) aware that he and I are pretty much best buds. That I constitute a one-girl fan club. That I talk at him, to him, and about him not infrequently. Some of you may even be sick to death of him. (If you're in the "sick of him" category, you're really lame, by the way.) One of my friends heard him mentioned and asked me, "Pier Giorgio, that's your guy, right?" (Day. MADE.) Another of my friends refers to him as my "saint crush." 

Well, he's not exactly a saint crush. Legit question though. I mean, hey:

I thought about trying to explain this and was reminded of a story I heard Fr. Larry Richards tell. When he gives retreats, he likes to ask retreatants how they "know" God exists. After shooting down their proofs for God's existence, he demands they ask him that same question: "Okay, Father - how do you KNOW God exists?"

"Because I KNOW HIM. Because I have sat in Adoration and experienced His presence. Because I have seen Him work in my life."

I love my Pier Giorgio because I know him.

He is so knowable. We have letters and pictures and stories from family and friends.

How could you resist loving holiness that looks like this?

And, uhm, why the heck would you even want to?

I just don't even know what's not to love. Even the annoying stuff. Yes, I do occasionally find him annoying, as all normal sisters at some point find their normal brothers at least a little annoying, no matter how handsome, charming, and lovable they are. His (for-real-genetic) sister, Luciana, was a little younger but very close to him in age and thought the world of him...most of the time. 

Okay, first of all: the man was a practical joker. ANNOYING. But I seem to fall in love with the saints who are known for that...Blessed Miguel Pro was a notorious prankster as well. Ugh.

Secondly, he smoked. Cheap cigars. It drove Luciana nuts. And a pipe, he liked pipes, too. In fact, funny story, this was the picture they used for his beautification Mass:

Except they airbrushed the pipe out, which I find completely hilarious. I heard that story and snickered. Because you can do that with Pier Giorgio. You can laugh that somebody thought it would be wise to airbrush this smoking, pranking, rowdy jock of a saint into a polished pose when, really, part of the magnificence of his sanctity is the fact that he was a smoking, pranking, rowdy jock...Who also loved to throw parties. This is him with the paper hat on.

But he's lovely, too. I mean, just really lovely. His letters to friends and family are so genuine, so tender. He loved people, and loved loving them. He was a leader among his friends, and they loved him. They loved him when he sang loud even though he couldn't actually sing. They loved him when he climbed out of broken-down trains to march up and down declaiming Dante's poetry while they waited for repair workers to arrive. They loved him when he would trade small favors and ask for his end that they go to Adoration with him, loved him when he'd reach a mountaintop after the climbs he relished and pray for the repose of the souls of every climber who had died on the slope.

How could you not love somebody that colorful?

He didn't like school and wasn't good at it. But he worked hard, very hard - doing his best to fulfill what he saw as his vocation: to study and work and do well at school. He chose for his profession to be a mining engineer. His reason (apart from the fact that he liked rocks, weird) was that miners were some of the worst-treated members of society. He felt that in becoming a mining engineer he would have a chance to get close to and work with "the least of these," and for Pier Giorgio that meant getting close to Jesus.

Because my Pier Giorgio wasn't just some jock. He might be labeled that today, except he was unswervingly kind and considerate. He had a great sense of solidarity with the underprivileged, with those who had been shoved aside. In one of the (many) political demonstrations he was involved in, he ended up arrested. He was offered special treatment as the son of the famous diplomat...and refused it, opting instead to spend the night in the crowded cell with his compatriots.

Personable and lovable...unless you were in the gang of Fascists who tried to break into his family home. In which case he would swing in like Robin Hood, fistfight the whole lot out of the house, and then chase them down the street shouting, "Blackguards! Cowards!"

Ohhh yeah. He did that, when he was about 20 years old. 

Oh, and he did this:

So, how did he, cigar-smoking, keg-dragging, Fascist-beating, boisterous man become a Blessed?

Hmm...more on that later. :)