An Amusing Story

Saturday night, I watched a vampire movie with Percy and Julia. Percy insisted that it was a fantastic movie, and, to his credit, Julia really enjoyed it. Me? Not so much, but I was too tired that night for it to keep me up.

At one point in the movie, a vampire bursts into flames from sunlight.

I went to the optometrist and they dilated my eyes. Therefore, I spent this afternoon hiding from light. I felt like a vampire and couldn't stop thinking of that movie.

The Other Half

I found, in the months since I left St. Louis, that I missed kids and I missed volunteering. I also have Mondays off, and only so many of them can be filled "taking care of life" -- running errands, paying bills, cleaning the house, etc. After many failed attempts to find a place to spend my Mondays, I ended up with a group that tutors at local elementary and middle schools. Sadly, none of the middle schools had Monday slots, so I am now tutoring 4th graders at Romeo Elementary.

I'm assigned to Mrs. Smith's room. (Each tutor is with one teacher.) The last time I went, I worked with one student on long division. I noticed that Mrs. Smith wore an electronic device around her neck. I have a friend with a hearing aide and it looked like the device that he hands to professors to help with the sound. I assumed that one of the students had a similar difficulty, although I couldn't identify the particular student.

Today, I stayed in the classroom for instructional time. During it, I noticed the amazing acoustics of the classroom -- Mrs. Smith was not speaking loudly, but her voice was on math : comparing fractions. I learned a "fail-proof" method of comparing fractions.

Then things got fun. She handed out egg cartons, plastic tokens, and string to pairs of kids and explained how to make fractions out of them. They divided the carton with strings. The number of holes became the denominator. Then they filled the holes with chips for the numerator. So maybe 3 of 6 holes had chips in them.

It was all very confusing, and I settled in with two boys and helped them figure it out. As I sat on the floor, Mrs. Smith kept talking. It dawned on me that I couldn't figure out where her voice was coming from. That's when I realized that she had a projection system in the classroom -- essential, she had a microphone!

I later learned that all the classrooms at Romeo are similarly equipped. They also have document projectors that show full-color images of objects. The President's Day display had legit colonial clothing on it. Both times, someone had left goodies in the office for teachers. It's fairly clear that this school has money. Earlier in the day, I had gone to read with 3rd graders at another school, similarly shiny and high-tech. I spent a few minutes in the library there -- a large, clean room, lined with organized books, bright and shiny with a plethora of tables and chairs. For a moment I saw my library from last year and my kids. I resented the abundance here and the lack there.

So by the time I figured out how loaded Romeo is, I was predisposed to be upset. I am already enjoying the kids and learning their fun personalities, but finding out that each classroom has microphones made me a little sick. How is it that schools across the nations have such disparities? Not only are these schools so much better off than mine last year, but St. Louis public schools are even worse. It's not right, the way some children have the world in their hands while others have so little education. But it's one of those problems in this world that I have no idea how to solve.

Friday Night Plans

This post is a little late in coming -- the events took place the weekend before my retreat. I don't want to let it slide, however, so I'm going to go back in time momentarily. A couple of Fridays ago, CCM provided the volunteer force for a homeless shelter the next city over. (The 'burg has nothing of the sort, though it is not without homeless people.)

I took the check-in and dinner shift. I had worked at this shelter before -- it's housed in a Baptist church and CCM takes a weekend every year. However, I had mostly stuck in the kitchen, cooking, cleaning, and serving. This time I volunteered for the check-in process. My job was to help people bag up their possessions to be left in another room for the night. Guests could keep toiletries, food, book, mp3 players, and such not, but extra clothing, coats, hats, drinks, and any other possessions were checked in huge bags. Each guest had a number that went on his or her bag, name tag, and bed roll. They checked in with name and number. As the coordinator explained the process to me, I didn't like it. Too much focused on people as numbers.

However, when the guests began to arrive, I found that, although each person had a number, he or she was greeted by name. I discovered I enjoyed being in the check-in station, being the smiling face to greet people. Forcing myself to smile gave me real energy and joy and made each subsequent smile easier. Some of the guests were a blast, both at the initial check-in and later in the night.

Before any guest was allowed in, a sheriff's deputy gave him or her a breathalyser. No one above the legal limit could come in. Only one man had a problem the entire night. One of the other volunteers offered him a plate of food and a cup of coffee for him to have outside as he sobered up, but he was having none of it. Eventually, the deputy called for someone to come and take him away, because he just wasn't leaving.

Other than that, the evening was eventless. By the time we had finished checking in guests, dinner was mostly over. We helped clear tables and chairs out of the multi-purpose room to get ready to convert it to a bedroom. This large room was the men's sleeping area; the women and kids (there were fewer) had a different, smaller room. We handed out sheets and mats by calling out numbers. There were two of us on calling duty, and the men joked that we must have been cheerleaders. No, a loud Irish-German-Polish family does that to you.

After handing out the bedding, I joined the other volunteers in the hallway, where some of the guests came to chat. A few of them were particularly friendly, and we had some fun conversation. Then the next crew came, and I said good-byes.

The evening made me realize how much I miss last year, with its focus on serving other people and its opportunities for random volunteering. This year, I have to be more intentional about finding places to serve, and I'm still learning the balance.

Our Turn

Warning: Not for the faint of heart.

I have heard for several years now about the undercover investigations of Lila Rose and Live Action. While I was president of the College's Students for Life group, she came out with a series of videos documenting Planned Parenthood employees covering up statutory rape. (Basically, ignoring mandatory reporting laws put in place to protect children.) Fast forward to now. If you follow news in pro-life circles, or on the other side of the question at hand, you have probably heard the latest project. Planned Parenthood employees helping pimps procure abortions for victims of sex trafficking.

The first video I saw showed a facility in New Jersey. Then I discovered this link in my inbox: the video from Richmond, VA. I have stood outside of that building, armed with my rosary. While I am absolutely horrified that this is happening, it is certainly an answer to prayers to have such evils exposed to light. No matter how people conceptualize abortion, any moral person would agree to the evil of trafficking girls for sex work.

I'm putting the Youtube video below for good measure, but I urge you to click the link, read the article, and watch the unedited video.

Day-Maker #23

Father Dude: You're an instituted acolyte as well as a reader? That means you can read and light things on fire.

Seminarian: And purify vessels. And... bless... farm equipment?

Apparently someone told him this. It's veracity is currently unconfirmed.

Come to the Water

Two years ago, I said good-bye to the mountain retreat center that hosted each of my four Encounter with Christ retreats and each of my three team formations. I knew I would never be back for another such retreat. It was part of the growing up and moving on that happens when you get ready to graduate college.

Fast forward to October 2010: I am at another formation. February 2011: Another Encounter with Christ retreat.

I came as a (Young Adult) Campus Minister, rather than participant or team, which changed my experience of the weekend. Mostly, this role meant that I had a table of four participants and one team member with whom I got to pray. I watched them experience the Encounter with Christ, and I can't say a whole lot about the weekend without putting other people's stories up here. Mostly, I was a blessed witness to other people's encounters with the living God -- though He did speak some words to me as well. I am an introverted person, and on people-intensive occasions such as this retreat, I carve alone time out by waking early. Between morning walks and moments snuck with the Blessed Sacrament, God and I had a few good moments together.

The retreat experienced some changes as well -- we had daily Mass each day and Adoration for the first time. We prayed Liturgy of the Hours from the little red books and made a few other minor changes. Nothing however to keep it from feeling as beautiful as any EWC. The weekend was so full that I keep thinking I should have stories to tell, but as I wrote above, I think they belong to other people.

Day-Maker #22

An email exchange between myself and a friend. Not the problem I was having, but thanks for the advice, Google.

Me:

I'm starting to get frustrated with people making commitments and then backing out.

The reply:

Seriously. People seem to be doing that a lot lately. On a brighter note, this is the ad that google suggested when I read your reply:

Men's Fear Of Intimacy

Ad

HaveTheRelationshipYouWant.com - Cure His Fear! Bring Him Close & Make Him Want To Stay Forever

Nine Days That Changed the World

CCM screened the documentary Nine Days That Changed the World this past Sunday. We have been preparing for this event since last semester, when an alum who works for the company that produced it approached Asher, a CCMer who is now a graduate student, about showing the film. Over the past few weeks, Asher and our campus presence team have worked tirelessly to promote the film on and around campus. Asher and the alum also put together an eclectic panel to speak about the film after the screening.

I was nervous, because we reserved the auditorium that seats over 400 people, so even a respectable showing of 60 people would look small. To my shock and joy, over 200 people showed up, including many parishioners and members of a Polish heritage group from a couple towns over.

The film, which is officially one of my favorites, is about the nine day pilgrimage Pope John Paul II made to Poland in 1979. The makers of the film contend that this pilgrimage sparked the downfall of communism in Poland and thus through all of Europe. I would like to say "JPII single-handedly brought down communism," but that is not the claim they make. Rather, they show how this trip acted as a catalyst that helped move Poland to freedom.

I cannot sing the praises of this film enough. I saw it twice in a week and half, and both times it made me cry. Not just get misty-eyed, but cry. It begins by chronicling the history of Poland in the 20th century and showing how JPII emerged from a specific socio-historical/political context to be an unexpected pope. Then it moves into the nine-day pilgrimage itself, explaining everything the Pope did in his native land, and the power of his journey to awaken the people of Poland who were living in fear, forgetting hope, and without a sense of themselves. When the Pope left, the people were awake, alive, and aware -- and the Pope's sparks led to Solidarity, which led to the peaceful overcoming of communism, ten years to the day of the Pope's pilgrimage. Poland's fall, of course, toppled the rest of communism like dominoes.

When the film ended, one of the field producers, a Slovakian priest, and a W&M alum who had studied Polish American communities spoke on a panel about issues discussed in the film. When someone asked a question about Mary, however, we got an answer from the audience. We had a few Polish immigrants in the house, who were overjoyed to share the story of Our Lady of Czestochowa (the Black Madonna). The whole evening made me proud to be a Pole.

If you want to know more (which you should), you should watch the movie. I have it in my office, if you are near me.

Alewerks

On Saturday, Percy, Julia, her boyfriend, and I hunted down a local microbrewery, Alwerks. Having enjoyed Schlafly's immensely, I was looking forward to this tour. We got a late start to our adventure : we left at 2:59 for a 3:00 tour. I thought we were going to miss the tour and was planning when to reschedule it.

We got to Alewerks at 10 after, and an employee ushered us across the sidewalk to a sketchy-looking warehouse that housed the brewery. I had expected something larger -- the entire brewery fit into a room maybe 50'x50'. Alewerks is to Schlafly's as Schlafly's is to Anheuser-Busch. Our guide was an older man with a thick accent who knew a lot about the making of beer and not a lot about entertaining a tour group, or ending his sentences audibly. If I hadn't heard so much about making beer last year, I doubt I would have made sense of most of what he said. I did learn that Alewerks makes ales rather than lagers, which boded well for me -- I prefer ales.

Eventually, we headed back over to their little shop, where we had the beer tasting. They called ladies up first, a chivalrous act that amused me, but which I appreciated. In general and overall, I found that I like Alewerks's ale. We had six samples, and, although we had a new man talking at us, I found it hard to keep straight which sample I had when, because of the confusion in the small room. That being said, I learned interesting details about all the beers -- including one that is made by brewing coffee like tea and adding it to ale. It was coffee flavored and delicious.

Afterward, we were hungry, so we found pancakes at a new restaurant in town. Or rather, Julia and I found pancakes. Percy and Julia's boy got real food. The diner was quiet and we are not quiet people most days of the week. Plus, Julia's boy and I both laugh really loudly. So we got lots of looks, which made the boys louder. We were "that table." I think our waitress was probably glad when we left... and we may have scared one couple into a quick meal. Oops. There are a few problems with living in a town of retirees.

What Does It Mean...?

Sometimes, when I am in the mood to be active and when it is nice outside, I take a walk. Sometimes, I go out to the historic part of town and just walk. Shortly after the return from Pennsylvania and Ohio, I took a walk alone with my thoughts. I had barely been walking for five minutes when a person started to keep pace with me. He turned to me and said, "Excuse me. I am doing research for a class and I was wondering if I could ask you some questions."

Having been a sociology major, and done my fair share of clandestine and open observation, I agreed. We continued to walk down the street as he explained that he was in an Eastern Asia studies class and needed to practice field research. He asked me to recall my past 24 hours, using as many action verbs as possible, so I got to tell the story of the epic road trip home. Then he asked a couple questions: 1) What does it mean to me to be American? and 2) As speculation, what would it mean to be Japanese American?

If you have been reading a while, you may have seen my meditations on patriotism. In any other conversation, I would have commented that I don't feel a strong identity as an American and that, more or less, I dislike the mainstream ideas associated with "American" : obnoxious cultural elitism, "freedom" in an absence of truth, a sense of entitlement, consumerist values. (Okay, that is the cynical approach to what it means to be "American." Newsflash -- I'm cynical.)

I didn't want to tell a perfect stranger that I don't like being American. If there is anything more smugly superior than my idea of an "American," it is a person who is smugly superior to "Americans." So, standing in city where our country was born, I considered the question seriously. As much as I dislike the left's and right's manner of hijacking my national identity, I am American. It is a huge part of my identity, so huge that most of the time, I don't see how much of me it affects. But it's there, because I have lived my entire life in America, in an American family, attending (public) American schools, watching the American political system. So I thought.

I told the student that to me, being American meant having certain rights and freedoms. But with those freedoms, I have certain responsibilities. So being American means that I have all the freedoms our founding fathers gained for us. But American isn't perfect, so I have the responsibility as well to effect change in our society. The founding fathers secured for us all these rights and freedoms not in order to create the perfect government, but in order that future generations might have recourse against a government which they knew would be imperfect. In the back of my mind, I was thinking of G.K. Chesterton. I've only read one of his books (he's on my list, but JPII is taking a long time right now!), but one part struck me: being patriotic, he explained, is not unconditional support for anything your country does, but rather caring enough about your country to want to correct its flaws.

As for what it meant to be Japanese American, I offered a few speculations, that were really nothing more than speculations. He then asked what I thought it would mean to be Japanese in Japan. Again, nothing more than speculations, in light of different history, culture, and value systems. We chatted and walked back down the streets, until we reached a parting place.

Morning Glory

Sunday. Church x2 and the trip home. We decided to go to an 8am Mass at a nearby Catholic parish so that we could make it to the 10:30 service at the Orchard (with breakfast in between. I eat so much when I'm with Percy!). Percy had done his research on MassTimes.org. We pulled up to St. Philip right on time... and read the sign outside. MassTimes.org is a great way to find churches. Not so much for finding up-to-date Mass times. With some help from Percy's mother and his GPS (yet another reason to love it) we found a Catholic church 15 minutes away and arrived slightly more than fashionably late. It was a small church with lots of Steelers pride, and the priest had a pretty amazing voice. Percy liked what he had to say; I just liked to hear him talk.

Doubling up church in the morning is a lot better than doubling up breakfast. The congregation of the Orchard was small but incredibly welcoming. I became immediate friends with one of the ushers and his wife, who were friends of Percy's. We were right away on hugging terms. When the service started, he welcomed Percy back and had Percy introduce me. Only slightly embarrassing. Then the pastor spoke for a bit. It started off apocalyptic and relating to world events in Egypt, but ended with a message about putting your trust in God, which is always a good thing to hear.

Then we had an awesome combination of music and spontaneous prayer. The band would do a song and people would get up and stand, sing, dance, wave colored flags, or just lift their arms to the Lord. In between songs, almost invariably, a member of the congregation would shout something. Sometimes simply thanks and praise to God. Sometimes calling out the congregation: "Why are we sitting? Let's stand for Jesus! We are going to shout for the Steelers tonight! Let's make more noise for Jesus!" In fact the theme became, "We love the Steelers, but we love Jesus MORE!"

I loved the contrast between the rite and ceremony of the Catholic parish and the wild abandon of the Orchard, especially because the Orchard used to be a Catholic parish. While the lack of altar and tabernacle saddened me a little bit, it was impossible to mourn the joy in the congregation or the good it was doing to the community, as it served as a half-way house for a handful of homeless men. I wanted to stay and get to know the people, rather than merely passing through their lives.

Unfortunately we had to leave right after the service. I hated to extract myself from the welcoming arms of that crowd, but Percy wanted to be back in time for the big game. Which meant we had to be on the road five minutes ago.

I was tired from not sleeping enough, but I figured I could make it to a gas station before I got coffee and drive at least through DC. In fact, I picked a rest stop, just south of my hometown, where I would stop and let Percy drive. At first, it went swimmingly -- other than the odometer needle going down as I pushed harder on the accelerator. At some point however, my tired switched to a headache. I kept driving until we needed gas, but by then my head was going from ache to full-fledged migraine. So I let Percy behind the wheel.

Thank God, once again, for my road trip companion. I was completely out of it for most of the trip. I haven't had a migraine that bad in a while. I felt bad as I navigated Percy through the beltway, but by then I was wincing at any suggestion of the sun and fighting back nausea whenever food came up in the conversation or my head. Finally, I asked Percy to pull over and dug through my bag for medicine. At that point, I wasn't quite walking straight.

Eventually, the medicine did the trick. It didn't go away completely for another two days, but it got better. I could carry on a conversation about McDonald's oatmeal without wanting to vomit. And I could help Percy count down the minutes on the GPS to figure out how much of the game we would miss. The time lowered fairly steadily from NoVA to the 'burg. Our road trip ended at CCM at 6:40, only ten minutes short of perfect. And by the time we made it to CCM for the Super Bowl party, I could stand to be in the room with the cheering crowd.

Pumpkins and Star Wars

I went straight from driving adventures to adventures with Percy. Which are much more fun. We went first to visit the pumpkin patch. I was not sure what to expect but I hopped into the car and followed Percy's guesswork directions. We pulled to the side of the road in a neighborhood in front of a fenced-in area. On the other side of the fence, I could see a building with an angry-looking Yoda and a Vader head on the side of it. Nearby, a large arching tent was labeled, "Pumpkin Arena."

We continued around the fence, and I found giant candy canes (apparently, Percy made them), Christmas trees, angels, a "Jesus is Lord" sign, and a variety of Disney cut-outs : Monsters Inc., Beauty and the Beast, Toy Story. Power Rangers as well, though they are not Disney. Percy pointed out the Polar Express, which hitched to a truck to take rides through the streets, and the access road that the camels and Clydesdales walked up. The crowning jewel, however, was the "Death Star" : a large, generally spherical gray tent.

People come to the pumpkin patch at Halloween time (for a cowboy, luau fiesta, or something like that) and at Christmas time (when they light up the trees and set off fireworks). In the past, pumpkins grew there, but now they are imported, thanks to a blight. At various times, the "Pumpkin Arena" has housed Santa Claus and an electric bull (Percy didn't last long). All this joy and fun come from a wealthy man who wanted to give something to the town.

After we had seen the pumpkin patch, Percy led the way back down steep, pot-hole-riddled roads. Instead of heading back to the Orchard, we made a side trip to the community center next door. Percy's volunteer group had run a coffee shop ministry for students at a horror art school, and I had heard so many stories. After poking around the building for a bit and seeing where things had been and what had changed, we climbed to the roof. The view was amazing. I wish I had roof access to any building here. Places above the world hold such calm and peace and perspective. I would have stayed forever in the light snow, staring at the mountains and the river and the life below us. After my whirl-wind emotions of the day, it felt good to have some calm and peace and perspective.

In Which I Learn to Love a GPS

My "tour guide" on Saturday was the friend of a friend -- said girl was busy until dinner time. So she and I grabbed dinner after my tour. We had to drive a little ways outside of Steubenville to get to the place she suggested, and that meant also driving half an hour back after dinner to drop her off. To my extreme displeasure, when we hopped back into my car, the clouds decided to drop white flakes upon us. I spent most of the trip back to Steubenville worrying about my hour or more drive back to the Orchard.

Luckily, it had let up some by the time we made it back and I was leaving. Still, I was very nervous as I called Percy to tell him that I was on my way back. To make my drive even worse, truck and cars in front of me kept kicking up salty water from the treated roads, blurring my windshield. Nervous drive + mountain roads + snow + blurry windshield = not a good combination. On the plus side, I found Froggy 103.5 -- a station that (with another number) appears by Dwight's desk in the office.

I was cruising along, below the speed limit, to be sure, but doing well. In fact, I was starting to get too confident, and that just wouldn't do. I came to a fork in the road and the GPS did not tell me what to do. I used a fail proof method to figure it out -- take a turn and hold my breath until I did or did not hear, "Recalculating." I took a turn, held my breath... and the GPS said, "Recalculating." It told me where to turn next. I saw the road at the very last minute and tried to slam on my brakes and make it. Unfortunately, the white stuff on the road was no longer salt. It was snow. I took my foot off the break and started a litany of frustrated words as the GPS said again, "Recalculating."

Eventually, it led me through snowy, windy, country roads back to the not-snowy, windy, country road that would lead me safely to my destination. I took the next few turns a tad more carefully, and, by the grace of God in the form of a GPS, actually made it back to the Orchard and Percy, safely in one piece.

Franciscan University of Steubenville

As I hopped in my car on Saturday to head off to Steubenville, my gratitude to Percy's GPS began. I am used to directions that take me places rather directly, staying on one or two main roads. My trip took a good deal more turns. Plus, it gave me a projected time, so that I could let my tour guide know that I was running 15 minutes late. Other than the lateness and the drizzle, the trip was uneventful. I kept trying to visualize myself driving these roads with a car full of stuff, heading off to a new home at the end. I could see it.

Almost immediately off the highway, I found a steep road that took me to the Franciscan University of Steubenville. I found visitor parking almost immediately, which was due to the grace of God and some excellent signage. I had studies a map before coming, so that I could dart to the Rosary Circle, where I was meeting my guide.

He was the only person waiting in the Rosary Circle; I was the only person rushing in. We introduced ourselves, and my tour began.

We started in the Chapel of Christ the King. Apparently, it was built as a performing arts building, but because of funding problems, they couldn't build a chapel. So they prioritized. The inside of the Chapel looked more like it had been designed for performing arts, but it contained a Eucharistic Chapel where we stopped and said hi to Jesus.

Next we wandered through the library. Most of the buildings were named after saints, but not the library. It is named after John Paul II. I quickly learned that I have been spoiled by Swem; the library was small! We went from there to the science building, and then to the all-purpose academic building. Between the two, I saw where most (if not all?) of classes are held. Chairs, couches, and tables lined the hallways. Flyers for a variety of events plastered bulletin boards, including a graduate theology symposium. I wanted to go. I had, overall, a strong feeling of a campus community.

We walked through offices as well, so I got to see the names on the doors. I had a momentary celebrity freak-out (just on the inside; I did not embarrass myself) as I stood in front of Scott Hahn's door. Fact : If I go to Franciscan and take a class with him, I am going to have to get over that. But even as I write this, I am dancing on the inside and singing, "I could take a class with SCOTT HAHN!" (Which is funnier because I am sitting with two quiet and studious math kids, who have no idea of the party going on inside my head.)

After the academic buildings, we did a blitzkrieg of the rest of campus : the rec center, the student center, and the dorms. We ended on the third floor of one of the dorm buildings. I could hear the sounds of praise and worship music, coming from down the hallway, celebrating the fact that tomorrow was Sunday. We stood by a window, looking out over the campus, and could see almost all of it. My guide and I chatted for a few minutes about the culture of Franciscan and how people get outside of "the bubble" on campus. I had avoided thinking too much about making a decision during the tour, but now all my doubts came rushing at me. It was just so small!

I decided to stop agonizing right then and stop into the chapel during the 45 minutes I would have between the tour and dinner. My guide pointed to a few more sights that I should see (the Grotto, the Tomb of the Unborn Child, and the chapel of St. Francis of Assisi). And we parted ways.

I took care of the outdoor wandering to see my last few sights, and then slipped into the Eucharistic Chapel. I pulled out my veil and the packet of information admissions had left me and settled in. The tabernacle and the crucifix -- which I love! (I was still thinking of the pastor of the Orchard) -- filled my vision and my mind. And almost before I realized it, I had stopped reading and tears were running down my cheeks. I didn't understand why, but I knew that I could see myself here, in this chapel, as I worked and studied and lived here. I didn't understand why, but I knew this could work.

I ended up on my knees before the crucified Christ, considering the meaning of next year. God is calling me to new adventures and an unknown life. I think He is going to challenge me in one way, and He chooses another. I want trials of one sort, and He gives me another. But, as I prayed before Him, I knew that I wanted to follow, even when I didn't understand.

The Morning of Meals

Saturday morning, Percy had make plans for breakfast. Since I had the car, he reluctantly invited me along. By which I mean, I got to come to breakfast with Percy and one of his friends. I immediately fell in love with her. She was a spunky lady who entertained Percy and me with gossip from the town. We broke our fast at Eat'n Park. I had never been to such a place before, and it seemed, as Percy said, comparable to Shoney's. Steelers merchandise dominated the front of the restaurant and adorned every table. In fact, the sub-theme of the weekend, from decorations to conversations to songs on the radio, was the Steelers.

I knew I was in a small town almost right away. Percy said something to the waitress, and she responded, "I remember you!" We ate and chatted our way through the breakfast buffet. By the time we dropped Percy's friend off after breakfast, she told me to come back and visit -- without him!

After breakfast, Percy had scheduled... lunch. We got out of the car and walked into the Orchard to the smell of pizza. I was pretty much the opposite of hungry, which was a shame, because it was some of the best pizza I'd ever eaten : whole wheat dough, ground turkey, onion and garlic. Two of Percy's friends had lunch with us, both people about whom I had heard stories. I was meeting legends!

Sadly, I had only half an hour to eat (or, more pointedly, socialize) with them. Pretty soon to my departure time, the pastor of the Orchard walked in. My carefully planned timing went out the window. He asked about the school I was visiting, which led to conversations about religion (especially when I had to explain that, no, I wasn't going to be a pastor). As a result, he discovered I was Catholic and working with campus ministry.

He explained that they had bought the building from a Catholic church and had inherited much of the artwork. They had sold and given away much of it, but they still had a crucifix. "His people" did not like to see the body on the cross (they preferred the empty cross), but I might have a use for it. It took me a while to figure it out, but he was offering me the corpus from a crucifix. He was going to hang the cross in his church.

Besides this awkward offer, he sang Percy's praises, including a story of how he was "almost martyred" last year. When at last I had no choice but to pull myself from the conversation, I was running ten minutes late from my last-ditch, no-wiggle-room departure time.

My Poor Little Red Car

My poor little red car has served me well. I drove it to high school. Two sisters after me drove it to high school. Then, one day, I bought it from my parents. Now, it takes me places. Like Ohio.

When we left my sister's college, the GPS lead us a different way than we expected -- rather than back to the interstate, it took us to Main Street. And told us to stay there for 41 miles. We had a few moments of confusion, during which we determined that yes, the GPS was taking us to the right place, and well, we might as well follow it. So we took Main Street as it became a state route. Then we hit something I should have, but hadn't, anticipated.

Mountains.

My poor little red car does not like hills. It does not like to accelerate up them. I do not like hills. I do not like the way they curve in the dark and pick-up trucks behind me get upset because I am not going fast enough around them. As I rounded curve after curve, as I climbed hill after hill, I was so grateful that I had chosen a road-trip companion over an official tour of campus.

After the 41 miles on Main Street, I hoped we would make it onto an interstate. No such luck. We spent most of the trip going up and around and down hills and curves and reading all sorts of warning signs for trucks. Having almost no experience in driving hills, the downs were as bad as the ups. Eventually we made it onto a highway! Other than a brief moment when Percy thought he lost our toll ticket (what do you do if that happens?) it was smooth sailing from the highway to the small PA town. Our turn off the highway led us up and down some roads... and into a tiny town that, even in the dark, seemed a shell of what it once had been. A few more turns and we stood outside a door labeled "The Orchard."

Percy's friend had left the door unlocked so we could slip in without disturbing anyone. After way too many hours on the road, we had finally arrived. "The Orchard" is a non-denominational church that bought its building from a Catholic parish. Percy and I were staying in the rectory portion; the sanctuary was still used for church services. After I dropped my stuff in one of the bedrooms, I got a tour of the building. We wound through a labyrinth of stairs and basements and I got royally lost. The whole place was a combination of homey and office-like, with rooms ranging from offices and libraries, to a family-style kitchen and bedrooms, to a vast array of storage rooms and the sanctuary. I spent a few moments imagining having the run of the building for a year. Not that I would trade my convent and my Six Pack for the world.

We tried to get into the youth center next door, but Percy couldn't remember the code. So we ended up in the library laughing at books and testing our knowledge of Bible trivia (basically, we fail). At way too late an hour, we headed up to bed. One of Percy's friends had prepared for us -- a teddy bear greeted me from my pillow.

Pit Stop!

As I drove up I-64, Percy flipped through the GPS's directions. As a general rule of thumb, I am anti-GPS -- an automated system takes all the adventure out of getting places. However, after this weekend, I am sold on the idea of the GPS. I am fairly certain I would have ended Saturday sitting by the side of some snow-covered road, bawling, if it weren't for Percy's GPS. The first favor it did for me, however, was to tell us that we were passing very near to my sister's college. So I gave her a call: "Surprise! What are you doing this evening?"

Luckily, she had no plans, so we took a small side trip. We got through DC traffic without too much trouble. I have discovered in recent months that I actually enjoy driving the crazy highways around our nation's capital. Rephrasing : I enjoy driving the crazy highways around our nation's capital, when I can maintain a decent speed. Since Maryland has HOV-2 lanes, Percy and I did quite well for ourselves, and we arrived at my sister's in time for dinner.

She showed us her room where her friends were preparing for their homecoming dance. Photographs, fluffy things, cute pictures, pink things, and girl-accessories plastered the room. Stuffed animals, ribbons and bows, hearts and flowers adorned every surface. Two times on this epic trip I felt bad for Percy. This is time one : when my sister and her friends, both before and after dinner, were talking hair and dresses and squealing and being all kinds of ridiculous. My sister and I are very different people, and I love her for it, but it was not a guy-friendly environment.

Besides dresses and dinner, we got a tour of campus. Apparently, Percy had wanted to go there when he was in high school too. I could see almost the entire campus from the highway. It covers a mere fraction of the area that the College covers. Walking through it though, the campus felt like my sister's kind of place. It also felt more distinctly undergraduate than the College does when I'm walking through it, probably because I was seeing this school through my baby sister's eyes, rather than my own.

After several awkward moments for Percy and several half-hearted attempts at leaving on my part, we hit the road again... only to discovered that we had spent too much time there. The GPS gave us an ETA of 11:30. Which could only mean an epic road trip ahead.

Another Epic

I present to you another epic weekend. This epic does not compare to the previous one (mostly because the other was longer!) and has a different tone to it, but still tells the story of a long, wonderful, and adventurous weekend.

As you may or may not recall, around this time last year, I began applying to grad schools. I took GREs, I sent in applications, and I waited. And, lo and behold, I came away from the adventures with two acceptances and one job offer. I deferred enrollment into school in favor of my YACM year here. Now, the time has come to make decisions : Which school will I attend next year?

I have been to the campus of the Catholic University of America, and I know the area. Franciscan University of Steubenville, however, remained something of a mystery -- I had never even been to Ohio. In order to make an informed decision, I was going to have to set foot on the campus. However, the eight-hour drive up there demotivated me, considerably. Then, the best of two worlds collided : it turns out Percy did his year of service an hour away from Steubenville and would love to take a road trip north. I had a road-trip friend and a place to stay two nights; he had a road-trip friend and an excuse to go north.

As we planned it, we should have reached the little Pennsylvania town between eight and nine. However, we got to a late start right away, due to an unexpected lunch with Papa Percy. Once we got on the road, Percy started looking at our route. His GPS took us a different way than I'd seen on Google maps, and I realized that we were going to pass near to my sister's college, so we had to stop!

So the table of contents for this epic is as follows:

*Trip north to my sister and dinner at her college.

*Trip from my sister to the little PA town.

*Visiting in PA in the morning.

*Franciscan University of Steubenville in the afternoon.

*Church on Sunday.

*The trip home.

Ready, set, go!

Lacking

This past weekend, CCM hosted the first-ever women's discernment retreat. I will post more on that later; for now, know that it was an awesome weekend and one of the highlights thus far of my job as YACM. I fell into bed Sunday night exhausted... and woke up 11 hours later, at 10 am. I never sleep that late, or that much. And I was still tired. As a result, I had very little awake time on Monday.

Most of that awake time I spent in the kitchen, cooking and baking. Since it was a birthday, I made a cake (with my mother's buttercream frosting!) and a meal of mashed potatoes and chicken. The cake did not come from a box, the frosting did not come from a can, and the potatoes did not come from flakes. As a result, I spent a good deal of quality time with my electric mixer.

I am the proud heir of my grandmother's electric mixer, which I am fairly certain is at least as old as I am. Much as I would rather have a KitchenAid, I am content with that quirky little hand-held electric mixer. And by quirky, I mean on its last legs. Unless you hold the cord at a particular angle away from and then back toward the mixer (most easily achieved when holding the mixer in your left hand) it won't turn on. So my quality time with my grandmother's mixer was lengthened as I moved the cord oddly and had to reposition it to turn on the mixer, approximately 3 times every minute.

My entire kitchen, currently, is an amalgamation of bits I inherited from my grandmother, extras/duplicates from my mother's kitchen, purchases I made (mostly from thrift stores), and birthday/Christmas gifts from the past four years. It's cute and quirky and a little bit romantic to have no money and pull a life together in such a patchworked and jury-rigged kind of way. To buy the car I drove in high school from my parents. To use a computer that is missing an "l" key and has to stay on a heating pad. To have a kitchen table and chairs that don't match because they were what I could find for (nearly) free in my two weeks before I moved.

But as I was rearranging the cord to the mixer while trying to decide how many seconds of my 90 seconds of beating I had lost in the interim, I realized that eventually I will outgrow that. Eventually, I won't be 20-something and just starting out in the world and on my own with so few cares and concerns. And that raises the question : Is this a temporary state of being, because I am 20-something and just starting out in the world and on my own with few cares and concerns... or is this a choice, that I want to live my life unattached to the material culture that permeates today's world?

For a few years now, the story of the rich young man has haunted me. To refresh your mind, it comes from several of the Gospels, including Mark 10:17-22. We take seriously so many of Jesus' commands in the Gospels. And then there's this one. We tend to brush it aside or explain it away. So two main points of the story are lost. One : Jesus asks us to sell our possessions and give them to the poor. We are not supposed to acquire material wealth. Two : Jesus says, "You are lacking one thing." Our possession of material things is a lacking in our lives. We will be more full, more complete (especially more complete in Christ) without things.

This message is the same sort of radical message that challenged me in Irresistible Revolution. It suggests that Christianity and Gospel love are a lot more revolutionary than most Christians, even devout Christians are comfortable with. God calls us to let go of everything material and let Him be our backup plan for all the contingencies for which we gather and store. It has huge implications about how we live our lives in very fundamental ways. I'm not sure what this call means for me and for my life, but it comes up in my prayers again and again. Right now, I'm mostly praying for the wisdom to discern the call and the courage to follow through.