Settling In

In the mornings, fog covers the hills and a smell covers the ground.  A particularly blunt grad student describes it in the same breath as urine and sulphur, but neither of these quite capture it.  One of our orientation speakers explains that it comes across the river from a plant in West Virginia.  The odor and the fog have burned off by nine or ten and (at least on weekdays) the campus has come alive.

Made-up girls in skirts and flip-flops and clean-cut guys in polo shirts amble to their destination, normally one of the two academic buildings or the two-floor library.  They stop and chat with friends on the pathways, because on a campus this size, you can't help but run into someone you know.  Some people wear their marks of loyalty in the form of t-shirts that claim Household allegiance: Greek life meets intentional community.

Inside the buildings, doorways and hallways catch and clog as students stop to mingle, buy drinks, and chat.  Guys have a tendency to hold doors and send women through doorways first, a touching display of chivalry that doesn't help the traffic flow.  A surprising minority of men carry a breviary or another prayer book, a material testimony to that morning's activities.  An unsurprising number of wrists, necks, and fingers support scapulars, rosaries, and crucifixes.  These tools of prayer apparently get good use :  there is no place to pray hidden and alone here, where sacred places attract crowds at all hours of the day and into the night.

Religious habits speckle the ranks of students and faculty and Roman collars pop up more frequently than spaghetti straps, even when the temperature springs into the 90s.  Those men and women who wear their order rarely walk or stand alone.  They appear to be in constant conversation with students, conversations governed at times by gravity and at times by levity.

This is the place that somehow, someone has seem fit to drop me for the next two years.  Part school, part Catholic Disneyland; a city on a hill in the middle of nowhere in depressed Ohio... The place in which I will learn and grow and discern God's dreams for me.

Classes, Parts 1-3

Thus far I have begun work for 3 of my five courses.  I sat in the second row in my 8am class and watched as it filled up ten minutes before class started.  Lest you think this a first-day-of-class fluke -- the same thing happened today.  The class fell to silent attention two minutes before 8, ready to begin.

That course (Sacraments) is taught by a Franciscan priest, who is hilarious, alive, and chipper at 8 in the morning, engaging us from the get-go.  My next course (Christian Moral Principles) is taught by an adjunct professor who checked his cell phone for the time and told us to use his Gmail address.  Judging by these facts and some dates he gave us, I figure he can't be much over 30, if at all.  In another realm, he'd be my peer rather than professor.  It was bizarre and gave me insight into Percy's experience teaching at a community college.

Both of these courses had priceless lines in the syllabi, including: "Computer use will not be baby-sat by the professor, since the student already bears the penalty of ineptitude in him or herself," and "Students should not leave the classroom unless they become seriously ill, or for some other good reason (e.g. incontinence)."

Finally, I have class with the one, the only Scott Hahn.  Remember that time I stood outside his office?  Now I sat in the second row and listened in unabashed admiration as he soliloquized about the course objectives.  And referenced Princess Bride.  His course, Biblical Foundations, is the only graduate level course I'm attempting this semester.  The rest are undergrad prereqs.  And the workload, difficulty of reading, and course expectations show it.  In other words, his course will be amazing!

From Ages Past....

Last night, I was sorting through my email "draft" folder, looking for writing samples from my past to send out with a job application. I found a ton of work that reminded me how much I'd put into my VSC school, and this surprise from immediately after graduation.

I wrote this piece more than two years ago for a group of women praying and fasting together. The boy in question has gone out of my life with all my Hail Marys and I have more questions, doubts, and grudges than I did then. I'm still seeking God's plan in my life, and perhaps I need to learn wisdom from my younger self : Give up my need for knowing and let God run my dreams.

A couple weeks ago, I was at a pub. It was the last of the Theology on Tap series for the Diocese of Arlington, and the priest speaking focused on forgiveness. I had just finished with commencement weekend, three days filled with speakers and times when I had to appear attentive. Perhaps another speaker was not the best idea at the time, and anyway, while the priest was a good speaker, he did not speak to where I was in terms of forgiveness. But he did say something that stuck with me:

A priest had told him not to give anyone else free rent in his head. When we refuse to forgive someone, they have permission to stomp all over inside our heads, and what do we get from it? Nothing.

I have my own vices, but holding grudges is not one of them. So at first I thought, "There's no one with free rent in my head." Then I thought again, and realized that wasn't true. A certain boy had open-ended permission to be wherever in my mind, whenever. Not only is that not healthy, but it also isn't exactly letting God work freely in me.

It can be hard to let things go, especially dreams. But how can I ask God to work in me, when I don't leave myself open to Him?

Modifying the priest's suggestion, I began to pray a Hail Mary for the boy who lives in my head whenever I think of him. Not for me, not that he gets out of my head, but simply for him. For some reason, I find it easier to accept that God might have amazing, never-dreamed-of plans for him than for me. Praying for where God is taking him not only gives him more Hail Marys than he could dream he's getting; it also makes it easier to accept that fact that God is taking me unknown places too.

I have a hard time being okay with the unknown and the unknowable; it's the struggle I have in this fast, because the unknown takes the center stage: this unknown vocation, for which I offer its merits. And that's how God often works in my life: the beauty of the unknown.

Today, I will pray for grace in giving up the desire to know. To know the who, the what, the when of my future vocation. I will offer the graces of this fast to a man whom I do not know, but whom God does know. And the rest, I will work on leaving to God.

Orienteering

I am officially orientated to Steubenville. I am starting to pick up on the lingo, and I almost have the campus down-pat. Grad students are a good deal less Facebook obsessed than undergrads, but I am officially Facebook friends with fellow GNTs (Graduate/Non-Traditional students). I know enough names and faces to wave to people as I walk across campus. I have heard the Alma Mater, though I am not sure I can sing it. (W&M's still wins; no worries there.) I have been to Mass with the school community and heard the president of the university quote Chesterton -- which apparently is a big joke here. Orientation meal plans have run out and I am cooking in my own kitchen once again.

All this adds up to one terrifying fact : classes start tomorrow at 8am! My patrons for the year are St. Anthony and St. Paul; if you have a moment, please ask them to pray for me!

Day-Maker #41

As I left the dining hall (we got fed during orientation!), I held the door open for the kid behind me. "A girl holding the door for a guy!" he said. "That's unheard of at Franciscan!"

Apparently, I am creating minor gender-based scandals. Win!

Elect Jesus For President

They had signs all over the town of Hurley, VA suggesting just that. I really wanted one of those purple signs, but alas, I never got one.

However, my mom shared this comic with me. It needs no commentary : enjoy!

New Adventures

Dear my loyal readers : I have safely arrived in Ohio! After an earthquake (okay, so it didn't really delay me, but it sounds epic) and brake repairs, I finally packed everything up into my car, 44 hours later than originally intended, running full speed ahead of a hurricane (again, not really pertinent, other than for dramatic effect).

By the grace of God, everything fit in my car, rush hour was apparently over by 8:30am, and I encountered no "runaway trucks," in spite of the escape routes that popped up for them. I also did not need fuel when I passed the "Last Food and Fuel For 120 Miles" sign. I didn't need food either, but I still felt like I should react to the sign, in spite of the fact that I was exiting the highway and would encounter both much sooner.

Now, I am safely stowed away in a little brick house just off campus. I have a view of the river. (What river? you ask. I will find out!) My boxes will become unpacked -- soon(ish). I am labeled for orientation with a nametag (useful) and a green wristband (obnoxious, but useful since it allows me to eat). I have a new housemate, Victoria, and am meeting people in my program.

Best of all, in the opening remarks, two people spoke directly to me. The president of the university reminded us that our time here is an adventure precisely because we are giving up control and letting God conduct our paths. It doesn't matter if we don't know why we're here : God does. A literature professor mentioned, almost offhand, the blessedness of the lilies of the field, a Scripture verse that defines my life.