Ghosts

Saturday night, I went out with Julia, and I met a few ghosts. She and I share an experience of "coming back" to the College. We shared four years, various adventures and misadventures, and a graduation... and then parted ways for a year, before reuniting here again. And as a result, we meet ghosts.

She and I shared dinner and drinks and "do you remember?"s that grew into longer stories because her boyfriend was there. So every offhand comment became an explanation and led to other memories, including ones I haven't thought of in many, many months, possibly years. These memories are made more vivid by the setting. I walked past my ex-boyfriend's freshmen dorm and remembered all the Friday evenings we spent playing poker, watching Firefly, and traveling to Wawa. Julia brought up one of his hallmates who had a crush on Wendy. The conversation turned to the lines drawn in our group of friends when he and I broke up. Then to other exes among our group of friends. We laughed at the ways we've changed, at the ways our friends have grown. We cringed at the crazy things we did. And I met the ghosts of College Past.

They manifested as a peculiar reaction to a particular setting and group of people. On Monday, Julia and I were together again, eating nachos and playing trivia at the "Deli" next door to me, but no ghosts showed up. Instead, we were in an enjoyable present.

New Cast

As I start to blog more about my life in the 'burg and my job as Young Adult Campus Minister (affectionately YACM), I want to introduce my new cast of characters. I keep bringing them up here and there, but I like organization of thought, so this will make me feel better about them.

Cara: my new roommate. She's a law student and has a cat, Grace Kelly who lives with us too.

Julia: one of my best friends from college who's back for law school.

Brigit: works for campus ministry too -- we share an office, so I see her a lot.

Marianne: my boss, the Director of Campus Ministry.

Miriam: a student who's running CCM's gala and in general spends much of her time around CCM. She's a liturgy nut like me and so can be found at Mass-time.

Ariella: president of CCM (a student).

Father Dude: chaplain (i.e. priest) who serves CCM.

Percy: a friend from college. He held my job a couple years ago and is in the area teaching.

In case you missed their intros, here are two other people in my life who have made the blog and might appear again:

Wendy: best friend and former roommate. She lives a couple hours from the 'burg and closer to my parents than to me, but will appear in my life a lot more often now than she did when I was in St. Louis.

Benjamin: a friend from college who went to Catholics on Call with me and is now studying theology, so hopefully will clue me in on what to expect next year. Plus, he tends to give me good things to think about.

The Return

I feel like I've been blogging a lot lately, which isn't exactly true, and that I've said very little about my life in said blogs, which is at least more accurate. So this post will try to remedy that deficit.

Students have returned to campus. They started trickling in around last Thursday, and since then, every time I turn around I encounter either someone cool that I didn't meet last year or someone I haven't seen in a year. This means that my life consists of squealing and hugging or conversing with new people; I am living a very extroverted life in that regard. So when I come home, I am glad to curl in a chair reading or chat with Cara for a few minutes, before she retires to the books and I return to campus for a meeting. Sometimes I don't return home between CCM events, and the public library and I are becoming great friends. I can walk there in six minutes from my office and when I have forty minutes to kill, it is a perfect place to be.

My Sunday activities make a good summary of the various sorts of activities I've had in my life lately. I got to CCM an hour before our 10:30 Welcome Mass and floated around the place, helping out wherever someone called me. Then Mass happened, and I was a Eucharistic minister. (I have roles in Mass again, which is weird but wonderful.) After Mass, I helped put various holy things away before ducking outside to the Welcome Reception. I said hi to some old friends, met some freshmen, met some sophomores I didn't know yet, and ate some delicious food. People trickled out of the reception, and I stuck around to help the hospitality team. As I put away food and wiped down counters, I got to continue with the socializing bit.

Then I went off to the library where I pick up an assortment of books: Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, a novel by Madeline L'Engle, and a book from the YA section by Jane Yolen. Upon arriving back at CCM, I drove people to a pool party at the house of a generous couple who does many wonderful things for campus ministry. After the pool party, there was an event involving some of the leadership of CCM and some of the adult-type people who make our programs financially possible. Which was lovely, but definitely the hardest event of the day. I've had several years of practice with socializing with college kids. When you move a step up in the world, my social skills are less polished. However, I did admirably at "mingling" when I compare myself to myself of past lives.

I drove people back to their dorms, got only minorly lost in the dark (there is one corner in the 'burg that gets me every time!), and returned home. And that's my life: liturgical joy, old friends, new friends, college kids, generous adults, required-but-fun socialization, food that other people cook, and only a little bit of confusion.

The "In" Crowd

I've written before about Busted Halo, an online magazine that I read. Today, one of the columnists, Phil Fox Rose, wrote about gossip. One paragraph stuck out to me, in a way that went way past the topic at hand.

Wanting “to be included in the group” when the group is behaving in a way that’s contrary to Christian morals is one of the great challenges for all of us. We are in essence social creatures. We were designed that way, and it is a good thing, but the fear of being shunned and the desire to be embraced by a group can push us into a disordered response, where we abandon our principles to align with the group’s values. So I do challenge all of us, myself included, to resist those temptations. I am not saying we can be perfect, but let’s at least start by recognizing that it is not OK.

This challenge and temptation creeps up on me in subtle ways, and, from what I've seen among friends and acquaintances, I have good company. Some work environments, some school environments, some social environments are poisonous because of the examples that act around us. I spend large amounts of time in a group, and little by little I begin to blend in with them and adopt their standards as my own. It happens so slowly and -- here's the kicker -- rather than making me uncomfortable as some pattern of sin do at first, it makes me more comfortable. I have a pretty good sense of myself and a fairly strong moral compass, but sometimes that's not enough.

The desire to be included is pretty powerful. Sometimes it works to our benefit. When I worked for Students for Life of America, the desire to be included led me to learn more about my beliefs and to act more boldly than I had done in the past. On the flip side, when I worked in another setting with professionals who shirked their duties and resented their obligations to others, I found it very hard to keep the compassion and commitment with which I started. Luckily, I had another, stronger group to keep me on track.

This trend applies to small decisions as well and serves a social function. We dress to imitate our colleagues : that is how we learn what is appropriate to wear to school or work. We speak to imitate our friends : that is the only way communication works. The problem arises when we don't stop to think about with whom we are trying to fit in and how we fit in. Tonight, I played trivia with some law students. I tried to fit in with a trivia team and a casual social group. To do this, I had to listen to law school stories and try to answer trivia questions. I had to encourage other people on the team and laugh at my own lack of knowledge. I could do that without sacrificing my core values.

A few years ago, I found myself trying to fit into a social group that had a lot of crude humor and made offense comments. To fit in there, I wouldn't have to make racist, sexist, or intolerant jokes... but I would have to laugh at them. I was trying to fit into a group of college students. In order to fit in, I had to change my moral system. Ultimately, I got myself out of that situation, but it took me a long time to put my finger on what made the whole thing so hard. I was very close to one person in that group, so I wanted badly to fit in.

Again, it is a subtle and often dangerous temptation. The Busted Halo columnist got it right when he said that we need to start recognizing that it's not okay. Once we recognize it, we can surround ourselves by positive people and make ourselves constantly aware of our values, so that when we do go into adverse situations, we don't lose ourselves in the adversity.

King Lear, William Shakespeare

More of an Idiot: King Lear, William Shakespeare: "Spoiler Alert: Everybody dies.

Believe it or not, there is a shocking amount of good English major lit out there that I just haven't read. I am remedying this defect, and King Lear is part of my solution.

It is a Shakespearean tragedy, so I came in knowing that pretty much everyone dies. Because it is about a father and his three daughters, most of the characters are related, which makes the disregard and cruelty with which they treat each other even more poignant. I enjoyed the twists that it took to get from the beginning to the point where everyone dies, even if the original premise made the story a little unbelievable. The entire conflict hinges on King Lear's making his three daughters give public speeches about their love for him and his youngest daughter's refusal, despite her deep love for him. Being a tragedy, it goes downhill from there. Being Shakespeare, there are a lot of disguises and tricks thrown into the story, plus a few good storms and failed suicide attempts.

My favorite character was the Fool, who offered an alternately nonsensical and wise counterpoints to the suffering throughout the play, following Lear in his exile. And of course, I loved the language of the play. That's why I read Shakespeare."

The Meaning of Fatherhood

What rights does a person have at the moment of conception? According to US law, none. No rights are accorded to a human person until some unspecified "other" time, and various rights accrue throughout a person's life. A baby just born has the right to life; a child slightly older has the right to an education. A late teen acquires the right to vote. But at conception -- nothing.

We (our society, myself included) tend to think about this lack of rights in terms of the children who do not survive until birth. However, I recently read an article that made me consider how our conceptions of pregnancy, pre-born children, and parenthood affect children once they are born and have grown into adults.

According to modern thought, the decision to have a child is one made by a man and a woman that affects a man and a woman. The decision to carry through with a pregnancy is one made by a woman and is her own private decision. Other people, of course, can express their loving care and concern, but ultimately, it is her decision, free from coercion.

These lines of thought forget one other key player in the scenario : the child being conceived. Most Americans know at least the basics of how this debate goes if we are talking about abortion. But, as Jared Yee brings up in the above-linked article, we're only starting to consider what this means if the child is born and grows up.

When woman uses a sperm bank, according to Yee, she and the donor enter a contractual relationship. As in an adoption, the man can keep his identity anonymous or allow for some sort of contact at a later date. This contract insures the conception of a human person... who, years later, may decide that she really wants to know who her father is. Now, she is caught by two effects of our modern ideas of conception: her rights as a pre-born child, at the moment of conception, and the definition and role of a father.

Her "father" is a man who entered a contractual relationship with her mother (likely without ever meeting her). Now, not only are we dealing with who has control over whose rights, but also what constitutes fatherhood. Is a man who donated sperm a father?

Biologically, he is. Half her DNA comes from him. Her never having met him doesn't necessarily preclude his fatherhood. If a person's father dies before her birth, that man might still be considered father. Does his lack of relationship with her mother influence his fatherhood? A divorced father can still retain fatherhood, despite severing ties to his child's mother. Or is it his decision to have nothing to do with the child? Is that where fatherhood ends? Do we consider the child "his" child? What about if a father abandoned his child -- do we consider that child his?

I am posing many questions to which I have very few answers. It all tangles up with our changing ideas of family, gender, personhood, and responsibility, and I am trying very hard, and failing very soundly, to sort it all out. It's all a tangled mess right now, which might, in the end, be the truth of the matter.

Surprise!

I have a roommate! Two, actually, if you count the cat. Cara (yes, pseudonym -- my regular readers are getting good at picking up on those, I'm sure) arrived Sunday evening. After spending the morning out on the Chickahominy River (I just wanted to write that name. It's awesome.), I turned severely pink and went out to get aspirin and attend the 5pm Mass. (My face and shoulders matched my blouse; I was very coordinated.) When I arrived home, I had a roommate!

I knew it first by the car parked where I normally parked, then by the cat that greeted me at the front door. Finally, I met Cara herself, in the middle of organizing her room and preparing to start law school the next morning.

My house is no longer oddly quiet; another person and a cat bring just the right amount of life to the place. For example, we could eat dinner together today, always a great activity.

Beads On Call - Busted Halo

I regularly read the Catholic online magazine Busted Halo. [Stylistic question : Do you need italics for an online magazine? My guess is yes, but I've never checked.] This article hit home for me -- the author's relationship with the rosary sounds like my own, and I like the bit at the very end too, about prayer habits changing. So click the link and read more than just my sneak peak here.

Beads On Call - Busted Halo: "Many people find comfort in praying a daily rosary. No matter what else changes in their lives, that circle of beads is a regular, dependable, soothing part of their normal routine.

I am not one of those people.

It’s not that I dislike the rosary. On the contrary, it’s been the catalyst for some of the most powerful spiritual experiences of my adult life. But though I’ve tried to make it part of my regular routine, somehow I can never quite keep it going. That could be a failure on my part — of imagination, or dedication, or timing — but I think it’s more likely that the rosary is, at this point in my life, simply filling a different role. It’s not my daily prayer practice, but something equally essential to spiritual health: the ritual I turn to in times of crippling fear, anxiety or grief..."

Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte

More of an Idiot: Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte: "Yes, I am fairly certain that most, if not all, of my fellow-bloggers have read this novel, and I hope a good chunk of my readership as well. I am also fairly certain that almost everyone who reads this novel develops a strong opinion of it, and I might be risking my often-in-jeopardy literary neck by offering my own view. But here goes.

First, in case you haven't read it, Wuthering Heights picks up the age-old question of nature-versus-nurture in the form of several very twisted love stories. The action centers around Heathcliff, a foundling child of mixed race, who enters the Earnshaw household. The older sibling, Hindley Earnshaw, hates him; Catherine, the younger, loves him. However, for various reasons, she chooses not to marry him, but the pretty-boy Edgar Linton instead. From there, the novel spirals into Heathcliff's elaborate machinations of vengeance.

I'm not sure what Bronte was thinking when she wrote the novel, but the narrative point of view is unusual, to say the least. A complete outsider (Lockwood) narrates the novel, but the housekeeper tells him the story that really constitutes the plot. However, she did not witness every event in the story, so she gives Lockwood long monologues from other characters... It is story veiled in story veiled in story and presents the dilemma of the unreliable narrator ad absurdum.

I don't like stories told through third-party narrators. I don't like stories where I don't identify with, like, or respect any of the characters. I don't like stories about hatred or vengeance. And if I picked some adjectives to describe the novel, they would be dark, twisted, annoying, and boring. So, logically, I should really hate Wuthering Heights. Yet, I don't. I enjoyed it the first time I read it, four years ago, and I enjoyed it this time, and I have no idea why."

BFFers

My move into a new house meant that once again I got to rearrange my room and the way I keep things. In St. Louis, I ended up creating a "prayer corner" -- a shelf where I arranged various prayerful and holy objects from images to rosaries to books. My black trunk has acquired such a display function here.

As a prayer corner -- or table -- or shrine of sorts -- it is very Catholic. On one side Mary holds baby Jesus; on the other, she embraces her dead Son. Saints Anthony of Padua, Vincent de Paul, Frances Xavier Cabrini, and Gerard Majella keep me company from their prayer cards. Besides His images with His mother, Jesus is depicted as the Good Shepherd, the Sacred Heart, and the Divine Mercy.

From other places in the room, Mary smiles at her infant Son and Christ Crucified hands on the cross. St. Vincent and St. Louis de Merillac poke out of random corners, along with St. Teresa of Avila. These images are interspersed with photographs. Wendy and I smiling on the bridge at graduation. One of my best friends' senior picture from high school. A group of CCMers at the candlelight ceremony. My beloved apartment from senior year. A trio of friends from freshmen year and at graduation. The Six Pack.

I love it. It is the finest depiction of the Communion of Saints I ever could imagine. One of the most beautiful parts of my Church is the way it recognizes our interdependency. I have all these images -- I wear St. Vincent, St. Therese Liseaux, and Our Lady around my neck -- not because they are cool decorations. I have them because they matter to my life. They form a part of my Church which is a body, and we are as integral to each other as my hand and arm are to each other.

They are a part of me and so I talk to them, I share my life with them, I ask them to pray for me. And physical reminders of them crop up in my life, the same way that I kept a For Better or For Worse comic that reminds me of my family, a key chain that reminds me of my dog bones team, a crocheted "love-mite" that reminds me of Meemaw, and a strange, grass-skirted hula-hooping man that reminds me of friends from Youth Group. They are physical symbols for my physical self.

And my friends, those in this world and those in the Church triumphant keep my company and smile down at me in my room, making the space alive, vibrant, beautiful.

On Writing, Stephen King

More of an Idiot: On Writing, Stephen King: "My little sister loaned me this book, and I am very upset about having to give it back. Stephen King abandoned horror fiction for the length of one book to write about writing. His detour resulted in an accessible, fun-to-read book that covers a variety of topics. The book is part autobiography, part grammar and stylistic lesson, part rant on pet-peeves, and part advice to aspiring writers.

Having read it, I am disappointed that King writes in a genre that I don't enjoy, because I enjoyed his writing and wanted to read more than this short book. He didn't give any advice that I haven't heard, but he wrote it in a way that I liked to hear. If you write fiction, you should read this book; it is inspiring, entertaining, and helpful, a pretty good combination of traits."

Week One

I came home last night firmly intending to update my faithful readers as to the state of my life. Then a series of violent thunderstorms came through the 'burg and knocked the power out. As the wind picked up, I half expected to hear tornado sirens and had to remind myself that 1) there are no tornado sirens on the east coast and 2) there aren't tornadoes here. Since I have very little to do with no power after the sun has gone down, I went to bed at nine and only found out this morning that apparently there were "microbursts" -- mini-tornadoes.

Today, however, the weather has held beautifully, and so I can update. I started work on Monday, and the first couple days were a whirlwind of new names and faces as I met all the people from the parish who work in the Parish Center with me. I also met some of the adult people who help out CCM. Some of them I knew; some faces were familiar, though I'd never met them formally; and some were completely new. The list of new acquaintances includes the new pastor, the Monsignor.

With my head still spinning from these introductions, I spent most of Wednesday working on mailings for Freshmen letter-writing. For those who don't know, we try to welcome all our freshmen ahead of time with a hand-written letter and some information about CCM. Plus, every job a college student or recent college grad does needs must incorporate mailings, so this was fulfilling an obligation.

Thursday I headed into Richmond for a meeting of campus ministers. I found, to my delight, that between retreats, service trips, and familial connections I already knew most of them. I felt more at ease during my first meeting among them than I ever did at any of the teacher meetings I attended last year. Best of all, Thursday evening, I came home to dinner with a good friend from college.

Today, the development director (well, I'm not sure what her title is, but that sounds good) came back from vacation, so I have an office buddy now. She, her daughter, and I went on some epic adventures to clear out our office, clean out the Catacombs (CCM social room), and organize the printer room. Our most epic adventure took us into the attic of the Parish Center, where we traversed creaking and bending plywood to store odds and ends that did not belong on the couches in our office.

In conclusion, my office feels much more like my own space after today. I have space, my own peculiar method of organization and plenty of sticky notes. What more do I need in life, other than students?

*Insert Smiley and Terrified Face*

I am writing from a brand-new desk having woken up on my very first morning in my new home. The windows let in sunshine, even with the blinds closed and it makes the place cheery and peaceful. My desk (well, technically, it's not brand-new; I found it on Craigslist) holds my VSC covenant, an over-stuffed basket of pens and pencils, a Bible-verse-a-Day calendar (Psalm 50:1), my Bible, an empty frame waiting for a 5x7 photograph, and a shopping list (dish soap, chair). Behind me and to my side are the bits and pieces that I left last night when unpacking got the best of me emotionally and I gave up in favor of making phone calls.

A few half-packed boxes aside, I am officially moved into the 'burg! I have a beautiful home in a townhouse, which means I have my own room, a beautiful kitchen, some hard-to-arrange common space, and a tiny yard with a uniform pattern of bushes and flowers. I have yet to meet my roommate, but she left me a couch and armchair and some dishes. My parents and I packed the minivan full of furniture, and they helped me move in and set up my desk, dresser, bed, and kitchen table.

After we grabbed dinner, they headed out and I discovered that everything you do at a time of transition acquires meaning. After taking an emotionally-laden trip to the grocery store (to purchase necessities such as milk, oatmeal, and tea), I opened up boxes and began to organize. Of course, I grew too unstable for this task and made a couple phone calls. When people failed to pick up, my emotions, of course, became even more charged and I set up my computer, and emotionally charged event. After making contact some with the outside world (and receiving a return phone call) I took an emotionally-laden shower. I think you get the picture.

I woke up only once or twice in the night and morning came bright and sunny. I start work in one hour. Between a job, a place of my own, and the bills that will come all too soon, I suppose I really am a big girl now.