Thanks a lot, Dorothy "Ruined My" Day!

A friend posted a Dorothy Day quote a few weeks ago that snagged my attention and troubled me (in a good way): “I really only love God as much as I love the person I love the least.” If you have even the vaguest interest in the Infinite Creator or a passing inclination to get to know Him better, Dorothy’s assertion is at least annoying. There are plenty of people in the world I don’t love very much (no really – plenty), and if Dorothy is right, they are totally ruining my run for sainthood.

Feeling vividly connected to God and ardently in love and drawn nearer to him is pretty easy in the comfort of my pew, or in the still and expectant silence of a winter morning. Heck, even in the middle of a festive gathering of friends I get notions of the infinite and loving (more or less, depending on just what breed of festiveness we’re talking about). But when that one guy who gets on my nerves comes around? Whatever. You’re killing my pious buzz, dude. And that sneaky, catty girl who makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up is definitely exempt from my Thomas-Merton-at-the-intersection-of-the-universe moment.

To add a splash of irony to this hardy stew of hypocrisy, there are others who have been true sources of sadness and sorrow for me, people toward whom frustration and bitterness would be understandable (though still unjustifiable). Thanks to years of literature, movies, and televised professional help, though, I am far more inclined to make the effort (effort, mind you, does not equal success) to extend them reconciliation and mercy from my righteous judgment than I am that obnoxious woman who’s always – never mind.

I believe in respecting people for all that they are. That means both recognizing their shortcomings (contrary to popular belief, we do in fact all have them) and acknowledging their gifts. And yet, faced with a person who irritates me about as much as a pebble in my shoe, I almost invariably linger over the first part, taking my sweet time about getting to the second. In some cases, I have brought procrastination of affirmation to levels most bored teenagers could never hope to attain. And what business have I, who claim to love God and be seeking His will, withholding from any soul the kindness and love that have been poured on me with such gratuitous generosity?

God makes Himself glaringly visible in my life in innumerable ways. One is that, during Mass, even when my mind wanders as far from the Sacrament as Dorothy (not Day) from Kansas, there will come a sharp, sticking thought. Of, say, one such irritating person, perhaps, and then I cannot look at the cross and consider the Body of Christ, the mercy flowing from Christ’s wounds, without knowing that what was done for me was done for all. In the comfort of my pew, I’m suddenly confronted with both my own failings and how loved my personal irritators are.

Of course, there’s no arguing with God when He points that out, and I’m left with just one, unsavory course of action: love these people.

Ugh. Crap.

With deference to Dorothy Day, I hope that the paradoxical reality may be that my love for God and my desire to love Him more are what enable me to love anybody at all; that the two may build each other. I trust it is so. And… fine. I will make every effort to love these brothers and sisters. If I have to.

We Will Run the Race: On the Immensity and Necessity of Education and the Faithfulness of Christ

We're doing a half-day retreat with a few schools' worth of teachers next week.  I wrote this to process my own thoughts on the reading we chose for the theme as I started working on the program.

I charge you in the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who will judge the living and the dead, and by his appearing and his kingly power: proclaim the word; be persistent whether it is convenient or inconvenient; convince, reprimand, encourage through all patience and teaching.

For the time will come when people will not tolerate sound doctrine but, following their own desires and insatiable curiosity, will accumulate teachers and will stop listening to the truth and will be diverted to myths. But you, be self-possessed in all circumstances; put up with hardship; perform the work of an evangelist; fulfill your ministry.

For I am already being poured out like a libation, and the time of my departure is at hand. I have competed well; I have finished the race; I have kept the faith. From now on the crown of righteousness awaits me, which the Lord, the just judge, will award to me on that day, and not only to me, but to all who have longed for his appearance.

2 Timothy 4: 1-8 

Teachers are responsible for the formation of minds and spirits; for the futures of entire generations of children.  They don’t get periods of time where they can lapse. The game doesn't end when the kids leave their classrooms in June, they go on to the next teacher, and the sixth grade teacher needs to be able to count on the fifth grade teacher, who needs to count on the fourth, and so on.  It's a paradoxical profession: the work itself is done solo, but each teacher feels deeply the repercussions of their colleagues’ work, for good or ill. The short and long view must exist simultaneously.

When the kids walk into a classroom, their new teacher might be able to ride the momentum from their previous teachers, or might have miles and miles of ground to make up. In either case, the job is the same: get them ready for the next step.

The objective is to get the students where they need to be. Full stop. As the saying goes, it’s that simple and it’s that hard. It’s hard because a legion of outside -- family, neighborhoods, economic status, friends, previous teachers, motivation, learning difficulties, resources, time, and on and on – cohere and expand each other to make the task seems practically impossible. It’s simple because not one of those things ultimately changes the objective. Both as a profession and a vocation, teaching obligates its practitioners to strive towards the goal, no matter what. All this because nothing, outside of the family, is more important.

So it’s critical – absolutely, utterly critical – that teachers stick to their guns and teach, no matter what; that they run the race and preserve; that they keep the faith in their students’ abilities and in God’s unwavering presence in their ministry; that they perform the work of the evangelist by permitting the Holy Spirit to work in and through them.

In every moment of this immense task, there is unlimited possibility.  If the bottom line is that teachers have to teach, no matter what, and if it is so critical, then there can be no doubt that God is intimately and thoroughly involved in the ministry of education. There can be no doubt that He will give those who take up this vocation what they need, so long as we are willing to really take it up. Whatever we hold back diminishes the results, but the returns are exponentially greater than what we give up if we pour ourselves out -- if we run the race.

New Year, New Blog? Ish? Maybe?

This infinitesimal corner of the internet sprang forth almost exactly four years ago when I was observing full-time in a high school classroom before beginning my run as a student teacher.  As a college senior, my purpose for blogging was obvious: talk about whatever I darn well pleased whenever I wanted.  A few months later my move into the convent with my beloved sisters provided both endless material and a clear purpose: the fist-year-teacher-living-with-nuns-in-Texas niche is very narrow, and while I didn't even manage to corner that market, it was easy to find things to say.

Writing with an audience and a purpose clearly in mind is such an awesome experience.  I love every minute of it.  And somehow, my readership grew and expanded beyond my family.  Trust me, four years ago my expectation of having anything resembling a "readership" was exactly zilch.

Over the past year or so, most posts have been apologies for the long break since the one before.  While being quite aware of the lameness of that, I haven't done much about resolving the causes, and since I know there are in fact people out there who read this, it seems right to offer some explanation.  The bottom line is that my identity as a writer has changed, and I've yet to figure out how that translates to this space.  What started as a college-student-turned-volunteer's reflections, as a matter of fact, is not that any more and can't be.

So, if only for my mother's sake, I'm going to take some time to figure out where I'm going with this and give it another go.  And even though I'm pretty sure my inactivity has chased off my meager readership, I'd be honored if whoever of you are left would stick with me while I reinvent my blogger self.

And, of course, a merry 8th day of Christmas and a joyful new year to you all!

The Hardest Thing I've Ever Done

And by "ever", I mean "since at least, like, a couple months ago or something".

I have roughly 17,000 photos on my computer and a new apartment with bare walls.  I figured I could afford to print and frame (with WalMart $1 frames, mind you) up to 50 photos, a few at a time, and I figured I have enough space to hang those without it being too ridiculous.  So I sat down and set out to pick fifty photos from my 17,000.

In the first round of picks, I had 350.  That's somewhat more than 50.

I took a deep breath, went through my selections, and got rid of all but the finest.

I had 275.

I gritted my teeth.  Eliminated all but the most outstanding.

200. 

I tried, through the blur of tears, to keep only one in four.  Only the most precious.

173.

That's when I died a little bit and quit for the night.

As a sea of third parties (well... second, I guess, since up to now it's been just me and my own obsessive psychosis...), which of these stand out the most to you?  Which ones should go on my walls?

You can take the girl out of the nest...

 

...but you can't take the nest out of the girl.

Point and Match.

The personal debate we've all gone through, which I talked about a little a while ago, has been settled, at least for me.  All my doubts and hesitation are addressed here, and I find the matter quite firmly settled.

While you're at The Crescat, read a little more.  She's hil-a-ri-ous, and very often quite poignant, one of my "always read this" category.

Pre-Pep Rally

This wasn't even game day, and it's not even the actual pep rally.

About 25% of 5-year-olds in the U.S. are Hispanic

According to this article, this year's class of kindergarteners are, as a group, about 53% white, down from 59% five years ago, while Hispanic students are up from 19% in 2000 to 25% this year, outnumbering black students of the same age by almost 2 to 1.

This belongs on my blog for two reasons:

1) The increase in the population of Latinos in the United States is a huge factor in some of the work Notre Dame is doing right now, and especially in what we're doing with the ACE Academies.  Combine the present national high school graduation rate for Latino students (less than 50%, depending on exactly who you ask) with the number of Latino students in the nation, and it doesn't take much specialized knowledge to guess what unfortunate fruits that coupling will eventually bear.

2) The article made me laugh out loud.  I'm quite sure it was unintentional and that the writer bears no malice toward Latinos.  Nonetheless, some of the phrasing made it sound like we're somewhat similar to a hoard of locusts, or we're carefully coordinating a slow invasion.  My favorite example (emphasis mine):

In addition, more Hispanic children are likely because the number of Hispanic girls entering childbearing years is up more than 30% this decade, Kenneth Johnson, demographer at the University of New Hampshire's Carsey Institute says. "It's only the beginning."

Hide your children!

**EDIT:  Dear AT&T text messaging: Thanks for making my hilarious story via text message into truncated nonsense.  You're great.

Dear Readers: I've edited the story.  It should make sense now.**

Fish: I think I'll buy this shirt.
Me: It's cute, but it looks big.
F: Yeah, but all the smalls have things like I love my grandma and teddy bears and stuff.
Me: Well, don't you love your grandma?
F (emphatically): Sure, but that's not what Vegas is all about!  Unless you're talking about gambling grannies carrying teddy bears.

Funny and Kinda True

Fr. Joe and I met about a year and a half ago when I went to him for confession at an ACE retreat, saw he was wearing a Salesian pin, and spent twenty minutes talking about how much we love the sisters before we even got to my confession.  He was taught by them as a child and has stayed part of the family ever since (once a Salesian, always a Salesian!), so he knows most of the sisters I know.  Now that we work together, he and I will not uncommonly have sessions consisting mostly of gushing about the Salesians.  He recently returned from a trip to Mexico and then to the first profession of vows for the new Salesian sisters.

Fr. Joe: Wouldn't it be great to take a bunch of ACE people down to Mexico City?  Just to learn about Mexico and the people and how it all affects what we do here.

Me: Yeah!  I mean, we've got this whole campaign that kinda centers on that.  Let me help you with that if it happens.

Fr. Joe: I'm going to think about that.  It's not very expensive, either.

Me: And I bet you could get a benefactor to help fund it, or even cover the whole thing.

Fr. Joe: It's very possible.

(He leaves, then pops his head back in my door as he returns to his office, wearing a mischievous grin.)

Fr. Joe: You know, I can tell you're loosing your Salesian roots.  The sisters would have said, "Maybe we can have a bake sale to help raise the money".  You say, "Just get a benefactor!"  That's Notre Dame talking.