The Adventure

This post has been something that I've been pondering the approach of for quite some time now. It is in no way my intention to come across as judgmental or bitter. Each person has a path laid before them that is intrinsically different from those around them. Our journey is unique because the world needs unique journeys. This is a tribute to the adventure of young love and young families and those who could have waited... but didn't. 

I met my husband when I was 20 years old. We dated for 14 months before he proposed. In all honesty, I knew he was the one I would choose to spend forever with a mere three months into our courtship. I was BEGGING for the engagement to happen. I could not WAIT to change my name. Even our 8 month engagement felt like an eternity. We were ready. But through this time of impatience, one common theme resounded from 90% of the world: don't rush to get married. And then upon marriage: don't rush to start a family. 

I was told not to rush into marriage... to take time to travel. Take time to see the world. Take time to live out my dreams. I was told not to worry when we couldn't conceive. To enjoy the infertile time. To use it as a time to travel. Take time to see the world. Live out our dreams. But this advice, as well intentioned as it was given, felt like a clouded judgement on what marriage and family is to me. 

I once saw a post that a friend wrote about how they feel bad for people who just want to "settle" in life. That they were getting out of here and headed to the west coast to live their dreams. That they were in their early 20s and had so much life to live. 

So to those who told me that marriage and a family would extinguish the fire within, I say:

Our lives are not much different. 

We are both awake at two in the morning taking care of our friends who cannot take care of themselves. We both dry tears and fall into bed exhausted from the late night that turned into this 2am hunger-fest. 

We both find beauty in the world. Yours is found in wanderlust. In seeing the sunset sweep across the sky at the Taj Mahal or in exploring the depths of the ocean. Mine is found in watching the sunset sweep across ten tiny toes or in exploring the depths of the water at bath time.

We are both chasing our dreams. Yours to be a CEO and save your money to buy the home of your dreams. Mine to chase around a little crawler and cook dinner for my family in our well-priced starter.

We both had to work for what we wanted. You hustle on the daily for your dreams and independence. I hustle on the daily to get places on time now that I'm never alone with a baby on one hip. 

We are both searching for inner peace. I cannot pack up to do this on a yoga retreat or leave for a week long trip to California. No, I do this at nap time when I have 20 minutes to eat and say a quick prayer. 

We are both on an adventure. Yours is more breathtaking, I am sure. But damn, you haven't lived until you have seen a baby breathe their first breath or smile for the first time or find their voice. 

You see, friends, we aren't that much different. 

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I promise to never tell these travelers and wanderers and adventurers that MY adventure is better, because it's not, it's just DIFFERENT. I am living the life that I dreamed.. And the wait was HARD, though short. You see, friends, when we tell people to travel before they get married and to chase their dreams before children we are taking away the opportunity for marriage and family to BE the adventure. We can travel with a spouse and we can dream of children. Those are beautiful things to desire. 

And if, in the end, all I have is my humble home and hand-me-down clothes and trips to the park, I will have lived more life in that simplicity than I could have ever dreamed of living. And if, in the end, you have seen the world and found inner peace and traveled your own road to Heaven, you will have lived your best life, too.

Support the journey others are traveling. We are not that different in the end. 

A Letter to My Firstborn

My Dearest Baby,

The first night we brought you home from the hospital, we went to lay you down to sleep and you made gasping noises. Three of them. Loud, gasping-for-air, can't-breathe noises. And then you fell into a peaceful sleep. Just like every cough and sneeze and nose run, I talked to your doctor about what I had witnessed. He told me that if you weren't turning blue, you were fine. Just like every cough and sneeze and nose run... it was normal.

But you see, sweet love, these things weren't normal to me. Every cough was a terrible cold and every gasp-for-air bedtime breath was a sure sign that you were dying. I was terrified. 

The first time you didn't poop for a span of 5 days, you cried. And I cried too. I've never wanted anything more in my life than for you to finally pass a bowel and even as I type this right now I'm laughing because of how excited dad and I were when you had the biggest blowout to date. As we wiped poop off of your back and the changing table and the ceiling (jokes), you returned to our happy, adorable baby. And a huge weight lifted off of my chest.

As the months went on, I became less terrified and more concerned when little things were off with you. Like when you suddenly started screaming during baths. I never wanted to bathe you again because God-forbid anything I should do would break your soul. It felt like, in giving you a bath, I was hurting you in some way. I was concerned that the water was too hot or that you might think that I wasn't listening and didn't care when you cried. Every time it was bath night, my chest tightened in anticipation. As I set you in the tub, I winced, sure of what was to come. It turns out you just wanted to sit up in the tub instead of lay in it. *Destroying your soul for life: avoided*

There was one night at Grandma and Grandpa's farm when you didn't feel well and couldn't sleep. We woke up at 2am and daddy was feeding you a bottle while I pumped. This time there was definitely something wrong. You had a 99.7 fever.... but nothing can happen unless it's 101.4. You cried. I cried. Daddy sat there trying to console his two girls. But seriously, my heart felt like it was bring ripped out of my chest not being able to help you.

Yesterday I tried to let you "cry it out" at naptime. I set a timer on my phone and I sat on the floor outside of your room and watched every painful second pass by. You cried... HARD. And I sat there staring at that phone with tears in my eyes and milk all over my shirt because even my body knows when you need me. I thought about helping you find your independence and how in the long run you'll sleep better. Thank God the timer hit "0" because by the time I convinced myself you didn't need to be independent and that sleep was overrated, it was time to take you into my arms and snuggle you until you realized I hadn't left you alone for long.

Every first sound, the time you discovered your hands, the first day you sat up... all of these milestones lift my heart straight to Heaven, really they do. There was nothing more magical than the first time you intentionally smiled at me. Your first giggle... I can't describe it. We tried to capture it on video, and I'm so glad we did, because every time you don't nap or I feel like a bad mommy for letting you cry it out, I look back on those things and my heart explodes for you. I see a glimpse of who you will be. My heart swells with pride because the miracle of your life... my body was a vessel for that. 

Sometimes I look at you and my womb physically aches in the spot where you made your home. I can feel where you once were. It doesn't happen often, it's just in those tender moments when you open your eyes just enough to see me and smile before you fall asleep in my arms. Sometimes I feel as though our souls are connected as intimately as our bodies once were. 

In your mere five months of life I feel like I've lived the best and hardest of mine. Sacrifice has taken on a new meaning, because it's not intentional anymore, it's engrained in my heart. I just do it. My body aches to help you, to care for you. I have to be intentional about pulling myself FROM you, from the sacrifice, to fill my bucket. But it goes against every instinct I have now to give MORE to you. 

I write this now because I know in a few years (God-willing) there will be some brothers and sisters surrounding you, and I don't know if I'll ever feel quite like this again. I don't know what of the magic will be lost. But I do know this... No time in my life will ever feel as special as carrying YOUR life inside me. And nothing will ever be as magical as YOUR entrance into the world. You've changed me. 

I am eternally grateful for your little life. And I love you.

Love,

Mommy 

Our Path to Pregnancy

Long before I knew my vocation as wife, I knew my vocation as mother. Throughout my college years, the sacrifice and joy of motherhood tugged at my heartstrings and I challenged myself to uncover where I was called to serve out this calling. I spent time praying for direction- was I being led to the religious life to serve as a spiritual mother, or was I bound to be a wife and have my own physical children? For the longest time I was terrified of either prospect. My heart ached to experience the thrill of life within me, and I knew that a call to religious life meant that I would never encounter such a thing. However, when I thought of marriage, I could never see the face of a soul whom I could trust or love enough to bind my heart to for the remainder of my time here on earth. When I closed my eyes and dreamt of the future, I saw babies. But I never saw a father. Until Ben.

Ben came into my life like a summer rainstorm-- he used his life as a vessel for Christ's love and faithfulness, and he quenched a thirst inside me that I didn't know I had. Because of him, because of God's love shining through him, I grew strong and took deeper root in my own faith. Faith in God. Faith in myself. Faith in mankind. Faith in him. He was the face that I could never picture in my vision of motherhood. He was the father. More importantly, however, I finally felt peace knowing that I was called to be his wife. He would be my partner, my husband, my equal and my leader at the same time. I took on this childish wonderment at everything around me. The day we were married, nothing could have shaken my joy. Not a single thing. Because, finally, I was living out my vocation as wife and well on my way to motherhood.

We settled into married life easily and developed a routine of daily sacrifices that we were both honored to do for one another. We knew that our next step was starting a family... something we were both longing for and couldn't wait to experience. However, we were hit with the harsh reality of infertility right off the bat. As months passed with negative pregnancy tests, a PCOS diagnosis, pokes and prods and labs and tears, there was only a small fraction of hope still in my heart. Ben, the perpetual optimist, would pray me through each tearful doctor's visit and ensure me that we were always taking steps forward. That someday, he just knew, God would bless us with a baby of our own. As we approached a full year of infertility, the talk of adoption began to fill our home. We began to pray about next steps. Where do you want us, Lord? What should we do with this pain? Is it time to place our hope in another path?

And then one morning I woke up at 6:30 feeling called to take the last pregnancy test we had in our home. I laid and prayed for a while, wanting to be SURE that God was asking me to do this. Go on, a voice whispered. Go ahead and take it. Three long minutes later, I saw the faintest plus sign imaginable show up on the screen. I snuck into the bedroom to wake Ben up to have him take a look. A few hours later I called our doctor's office to let them know what I saw. They had done blood work on me two days before and already had an idea that they would be getting a call from me. I spent the day crying tears of joy, relief, gratitude. Tears for the tough year we had been through, tears for the beautiful journey ahead.

Our year of infertility felt like a lifetime, and these last 33 weeks of pregnancy have passed in the blink of an eye. I have been through weekly tests getting my blood drawn, nausea, back pain, weight gain (duh), sleep loss, and so many hormonal, teary outbursts. And all of it is worth it.

You know, they tell you when you are pregnant that everything is going to swell up. Your ankles, your feet, your face, your hands. But what they don't tell you is how much your heart also follows suit. My heart's capacity for love has reached a bound that I never dreamed possible. It feels similar to reliving my wedding vows over and over again each time she kicks, rolls, hiccups, or sticks her little feet into my side. My heart explodes through my eyes as tears on a daily basis because I simply cannot contain the joy and fear and hope that this child has brought into my life by her simple existence. She is the promise God made to me when I first dreamed of my vocation. The promise that I had lost hope in, and He chose to restore my faith in Him first through the storm of infertility and now through her tiny life. No one ever tells you about how your heart shatters in the best way possible when you are carrying another human inside you. They tell you about the sacrifices you will make, but they never tell you how those sacrifices will mold you into a better person. How they will shift your entire view of the world and give you a sense of purpose that you never knew you had.

For those friends of mine who are living in the pain of infertility, for those who may never experience physical motherhood, I will never stop praying for you. I hope that you never lose trust in His plan, and I hope you know that I will never forget the heartache you are experiencing. I am here for you. I am with you and for you.

For those friends of mine who are mothers and mommy's-to-be, I also will pray for you. I will pray that God gives you the grace to cherish every moment of this beautiful vocation. Pregnancy is HARD. You sacrifice your entire body and entire self for this little human, and I know how draining that can be. But promise me that you will never forget that we are not entitled to motherhood. This is truly a miracle.

I cannot wait to see Ben become the father to our little girl that I always dreamed of for my children. He already exceeds every expectation that I ever had for a husband, and I know that fatherhood will suit him well. As we approach two years of marriage I cannot believe the amount of hardships he has carried us through, and the amount of joy he has sustained. He has constantly and patiently nudged me back to Christ.

My heart swells with love of you, sweet baby girl. Thank you for transforming my body, my faith, and my life.

Make Me Brave Like Jesus

I woke up at 6:00 on my day off full of hope and anticipation. Today was the day all couples struggling with infertility know too well: twelve days post-ovulation and time for a pregnancy test. Over the last few months we stopped this routine of planned tests and tracking cycles. Up until this point my cycle had been so terribly off that there was really no reason to take tests anymore. But not this month. No, this month was surely the month. The elements were all in place for us: the weight loss, a regular cycle for the first time in over a year, the right pills prescribed by my Catholic doctor, the novenas prayed, the saints interceding---- yes, this was definitely the month.

By 6:03 I was back in bed with silent tears streaming down my face. I thought this was the month. 

The past 10 months have been the happiest, healthiest, and most challenging part of my life. Marriage is the most beautiful gift and we have been blessed beyond measure. Ben and I truly enjoy each other's company. We love every aspect of marriage and have molded our two lives into one extremely well (in my opinion). However, from the very beginning, we were challenged to lay down our hopes and dreams for a family and follow God's design for our life. To say that it has humbled us would be an understatement. I always think back on a homily I heard many years ago about how when a sheep wanders from its flock the shepherd will leave the rest of the flock to find it. When the two meet, the shepherd breaks the legs of the sheep and then carries it home. This helps the lost sheep to learn total dependency on the shepherd, knowing that the shepherd will provide everything that it needs. It's a pretty beautiful analogy for when we experience pain and are learning total dependency on God --- except for when you're the one being broken. And that is what it feels like: broken. I feel like my body is broken. My prayers are broken. My mind is broken. My spirit is broken. When I enjoy the moment and don't allow myself to feel the pain of infertility I feel like I am denying myself healing. When I focus on the pain and allow myself to heal I feel that I am denying myself the joy of the moment.

I met up with two friends a few months ago to talk about the pain. I had become great at hiding it unless I was in Ben's company. It was time to allow others into the sadness. That conversation helped me to focus on the present moment in my married life with Ben and to realize that infertility is such a small portion of who I am and my life as a whole. I walked away with a newfound fervor for life. I knew that getting pregnant was not dependent on me, it was dependent on His will for me. However, something was said that night that I could not relate to: sometimes in our pain we can become angry with God. I have never had the inclination to be mad at Christ. Maybe in my angsty teenage years it happened a time or two, but I have always known that being mad at God would never solve anything. He is the one who heals, the one who loves, the one who cares. I was glad that I had that knowledge.

Until 6:35 this morning.

I curled up next to Ben and bawled like a baby. He held me and assured me that he felt the pain too. This is the millionth time we have done this: realization of infertility sinks in, Ben holds me and asks me to vocalize my pain, we pray together, and then we get up and move on with our life. This time was different though. This time I felt different. I felt anger. I felt frustration. I felt betrayed. I felt all of these things and they were directed at Christ.

A priest once told me that in his experience as a pastor, infertility feels like the loss of a child. He said that I needed to take time to grieve. While I have never lost a child and think that the pain of losing one far surpasses what I am feeling right now in my year of infertility, I can relate to the feeling of loss. It is not the loss of a physical being-- it is the loss of my dreams. It is the loss of trust in God's love for me because He knows my heart so well, He knows that what I am willing is good, He knows that this cross is one that I feels so heavy I cannot bear it alone, and yet He is still allowing me to undergo this pain. It is the loss of confidence in my body because no matter how hard I try, I'm just going to have these cysts that will wreak havoc on my health. It is the loss of hope in the anticipation of a child. This year has shown me the reality that I may never conceive a baby.

Thus brings me to 8:08 as I sit here writing this all out. Ben has made a pot of coffee, soon we will sit down together for breakfast, and our life will go on. Today I am reflecting on the idea of embracing your cross and what that means in the life of those who suffer. Maybe it means that we embrace EVERYTHING that our crosses offer: joy, redemption, sadness, pain. Maybe embracing my cross right now is taking all of the anger and devastation that I am feeling and just holding it while God wraps His arms around it all. Maybe it is experiencing emotions as they come so that they don't rule my life on "pregnancy test day." Or maybe it is simply gazing upon the road to Calvary and asking God to make me as brave as Jesus was the day He carried His cross.

8:15 and I am going to crawl back into bed with my Simon. Another day of infertility, another day to learn to love in a different way.

The First Four Months

The end of 2015 and the beginning of 2016 has been a complete whirlwind. I got married, finished student teaching, started a three and a half month subbing position in fourth grade, and have applied for numerous jobs for next school year. I've realized that being a first year teacher and a first year wife is the most challenging thing I have done. I have had many days of feeling like a failure (sitting on the floor in tears and all), but have had more days of sheer joy than moments of exhausted sadness. Honestly, I've wanted to write this post for a while: a total compilation of what I have learned thus far as a new wife. Here's an update on the newest Beckman:

No matter how terrible the meal, Ben will try anything to make me happy.

I had to throw this in here for those who haven't heard of my marital cooking excursions. A couple of months ago I decided I wanted to learn to bake from scratch. My first endeavor: pancakes. Shouldn't have been too difficult, right?

I had this terrible habit of looking at the ingredients but not looking at how to put them together. I would throw them all into a bowl, mix, and bake. Well, this recipe called for a stick of butter. I wondered why a recipe that only made ten pancakes would need an entire stick of butter, but continued mixing everything together despite my concerns. When I began to cook my pancakes I heard them sizzle.... They were frying in the pan. I went back to read the recipe instructions to find that the butter was to GREASE THE PAN.

.......... "Here you go Ben.... I made these for you."

God help me.

You are not entitled to a baby.

I nannied a sweet little girl named Kate when I was in college. Her mother talked to me one day after work and said that one thing she realized in her marriage is that we aren't entitled to a baby... We don't just get to have them when we want. I don't think that I ever really conceptualized that remark before marriage. Every time we see family and friends it is guaranteed that we will hear at least once a range of questions from, "When are you thinking about having kids?" (Have you met me? ALWAYS, that's when.) or "Are you expecting yet?" (I promise I'll tell you when we are).

This strange time when I've only been married for four months and have been unable to conceive is a limbo stage of some sorts. It feels like society has deemed it unacceptable for me to be sad that we aren't pregnant because we need to "give it some time and enjoy being married." I LOVE being married to Ben. I think it's the most special time of our lives right now being able to give to others because we don't have children we must pour that energy into. However, the deepest desire of my heart is to make another Ben Beckman, to show our children the love of Christ and to build up our domestic church. And dammit... It hurts my heart every month when we realize it just hasn't happened yet.

I've learned that I HAVE to let go of my plans, my passions, the very desire of my heart (even as good and pure as that desire may be) to let God work in my life. Ben and I are not entitled to a child. We don't know if we will get pregnant. And I think that Christ is using that as a means to bring us closer to Him.

Teaching is my job, not my life.

This has been a harsh realization. As a first year teacher I could literally spend every waking minute at school. Whether it be meetings, grading, planning lessons, or studying the curriculum I have put in multiple 11-hour days trying to get organized and do my best for my kiddos. Thank God for my team leader who, after a long day at work and what was supposed to be a long evening of planning, came into my classroom and said, "Go home, Sierra. It's all going to be here tomorrow." Suddenly it hit me: Teaching is the vocation God has called me to as a PROFESSION. Being a wife is the vocation God has called me to in my LIFE. They are not one in the same... Ben has to come first. Finding that balance has been terribly difficult, but I'm so glad I've realized it this early on in our marriage.


Receiving is my primary purpose.

Ben and I attended a weekly series on spousal prayer this lent and it was truly life-changing. It taught me so much about my role as a wife. Ben spends his days in total service to me: He does dishes and laundry and fixes the washer and makes the bed. He makes me coffee and rubs my feet and when the air conditioning knob fell off of my car he replaced it. I have tried my best, I really have. Ben has eaten burnt, dry, over-salted, over-buttered, garlic-y messes for four months. I do my best to help with the up-keep of our home on the weekends, but I get sucked into school work and he ends up cleaning. To be honest, he is so much better at this marriage thing than I am. And you know what he prays about when we're about to go to sleep? "Please help me love Sierra better tomorrow." Seriously? His sacrificial nature was enough to break me one evening (or multiple evenings... whatever). I sat down and cried and told him that I suck at being a wife and he sacrifices so much for me that I feel entirely inadequate.

And then we attended the series at church. The talks walked us through the role of man and woman, man as the giver and woman as the receiver, and how that mimics the love of God for His Son. "In our very body makeup we can see that it is man who gives and woman who receives." It was a wake up call for me to stop pitying myself and to accept Ben's gift of himself to me on a daily basis. Receiving his love is a truly humbling experience, but one that is rewarding both for Ben as giver and for me as the receiver. Learning to accept his love is actually helping me love him better. Such a neat concept.

Ben cannot be my everything.

As much as I love my sweet Ben, I know that there are some things he just cannot fix. My therapist told me once that your spouse can only fill you up at most 40%, so I need to find where the other 60% will come from. Oh boy was that true. I have learned to trust Ben with my whole heart because he points me in the direction of the One who CAN be my all.

He also encourages me to nourish my friendships. He takes the time to be with my family. He reminds me to take time for myself and to enjoy my own company. All EXTREMELY important things that I'm fortunate to be forming habits around now. 

Let it happen. 

I cannot wait to keep learning from Ben. I love what God is revealing to me through him. Marriage has been the most incredible experience and I am so thankful for its grace every single day.  We're in the transition process of deciding where to live, applying for jobs, and letting go of everything we ever wanted and letting God take control. What a crazy ride and an amazing life.

Calling All Married People

What important lessons did YOU learn in your first year of marriage? I have heard some incredible stories that have changed me, and I would love to hear from YOU. Thank you and may God bless you for being an example of love in my own marriage.
 

Evangelization (without Words)

e·van·ge·lize

  [ih-van-juh-lahyz]  Show IPA

verb (used with object), e·van·ge·lized, e·van·ge·liz·ing.

1.

to preach the gospel to.

2.

to convert to Christianity.

verb (used without object), e·van·ge·lized, e·van·ge·liz·ing.

3.

to preach the gospel; act as an evangelist.                                   

Above is the dictionary definition of the word "evangelize." True evangelization, intentional relationships, and authentic love have been on my mind lately. Actually, they have been on both my mind and heart since coming home from Vermont this past August. 

You see, when I had my "re-version" back to the Catholic faith I was all about the bare-handed, "Have you met my friend Jesus?" life. I was fearless in talking about Him with any and every person who crossed my path. At the time, I saw absolutely nothing wrong with this. I mean, according to the dictionary, to evangelize is to preach the gospel and to convert to Christianity. Best done in words, right? 

I would argue that my view of evangelizing others was wrong. I would also argue that the Apostles converted more people to Christianity through relationships than through a blatant, stand on a pedestal-and-preach attitude. Jesus had a message for the world. A message of Truth. It was a love story from Heaven. But He CARED for people before He spoke. He showed them Heaven before He talked about it.

Think about the story of the loaves and fish. Jesus didn't look at the crowd, see their hunger, then think to Himself, "They're sinners. I need to save them before I fulfill their bodily wants and needs." Rather, He told the Apostles to gather food. He multiplied the food, and He let them eat. Through this action He gained the trust of the crowd. People began to see that He wasn't there to condemn them, He was there to LOVE them through His actions. He waited to speak until He knew of their mutual trust in each other.

I have a feeling that in the above story Jesus was not sitting around waiting to make His next move in evangelizing these people while they ate. From the very depths of His being He cared about them. He wanted to KNOW them. He wanted them to know Him. In modern day terminology, we would call this caring-in-action "love" and this getting-to-know-each-other "friendship." He was a friend.  

Our society is thirsting for authenticity. We crave quality time. We long to be invested in, cared about. I think that Christians have the right mind-set in wanting to share Jesus with people, but I also think our approach needs some tweaking. Let me use my family as an example:

I adore my family more than anything. They are amazing people who are natural givers. We have a lot of fun, and we LOVE. But we are a wounded, broken family. When I found myself falling in love with Jesus, I recognized the broken parts of myself and realized that He was the only one who could heal shattered humanity. When I asked for Him to mend my wounds, He slowly and painfully answered my request. Suddenly, I knew what real LOVE was. I knew what real JOY was. And I craved for my family to know Jesus in the way I had come to know Him.

However, the more I longed for them to know His love, the more I recognized their wounds. I became frustrated with their sin and brokenness and was saddened that they might never have a personal encounter with Christ. I talked about Him all the time. I was the "Jesus freak" of my family. And suddenly, I couldn't take it. I could not understand why they wouldn't pray with me, go to Church with me, try and follow the Commandments with me. 

And then I went to Vermont, where being on fire for Jesus is a SCARY thing. Where most people genuinely do not want to hear about "my friend Jesus Christ." Suddenly, I realized what I was doing wrong:

In all my talk ABOUT Jesus, I never knew how to BE Jesus for others.

What a concept, right? Being Jesus. I had spent so much time thinking about bringing Jesus to my family, my actions were quite the contrary. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE to talk about Jesus. When you love someone, you want to share with others what makes that person so beautiful. However, not everyone wants to hear it. ESPECIALLY if they have had a negative life experience that turned their hearts away from Him. It's the plain truth. From Christian to Christian-- YES. Talk about Him. But from my experience with luke-warm Christians and agnostics, preaching the Gospel in words really hinders your ability to authentically love someone. 

It is not our job to confront people about their sins. Jesus never looked at Mary Magdalene as a prostitute in need of saving.  He looked at her as a beautiful woman in need of a friend. We are all sinners in need of friends who look past our sins because they love us. 

 I guarantee that everyone reading this blog came to know about a real relationship with Jesus because of another person who took the time to invest in them. Someone who just wanted to be their friend. Talking about Heaven came later, after they saw His love in action in another human. 

We have to start BEING Jesus in all that we do. We have to stop having friendships with hidden intentions, even if the hidden intention is evangelization. Get your new friends to Heaven by your prayers for them. And then just LOVE them. Get to know them. Teach them how to live their talents in the most perfect and humble way possible (aka... Holiness). Through your intentional and authentic care for their needs, you will BE Jesus for them. There is no way they won't see something different in you, because there is. His name is Jesus. 

Cancer Sucks (but Heaven Replenishes)

"CANCER SUCKS." We see it on t-shirts, posters, flyers, bracelets. To tell you the truth, cancer (and its potential outcome) really does suck. It sucks the joy out of living a peaceful life. It sucks the sleep out of nights spent worrying. It sucks the energy out of family members finding a way to be 'strong.' It sucks the daily routine from achy chemotherapy patients. It sucks the assurance of having a father, mother, sister, brother, grandma, grandpa, or child in your life forever right out of your control. It just... sucks.

Two weeks ago I received a morning call from my mother telling me that my grandma has breast cancer. Cancer sucked the logic out of me and I immediately took this as a death sentence. I'm not joking. Within hours I had decided I needed to start mental and emotional preparation for losing this beautiful woman who has been everything to me for 21 years. I didn't sleep that night. Cancer sucked the sleep from me.

The next morning I called my grandma. Sweet, sweet Helen. I asked what she was up to that morning. Her response? "Oh, just baking a pie for the neighbors! Earl gives grandpa tomato juice and I make Earl pies." HOLY SELFLESS WOMAN. I melted in a pool of my own selfishness. After asking how she was holding up, I could hear her smile on the other end of the phone line. "It is what it is, and it's going to be what it's going to be. We just have to pray. It will be what it will be."

There is something different about an attitude like hers. I realized upon speaking with her that I should not try to pray the cancer away. My grandma has this total and complete trust that whatever God's will is for our lives, we simply need to pray for acceptance and strength. It WILL happen regardless.

I think we tend to forget that if we believe in Jesus, we believe in the Resurrection. We were created for Heaven, not earth. My grandma has lived a holy, long life. She is going to fight this disease, but she is not going to force her will. Only HIS will... Because "it will be what it will be." Her positivity and trust in God's plans are truly inspirational. She gets it. She understands purpose and pain and Heaven. And she finds hope and solace in that knowledge.

Point in case...Cancer sucks. Suffering is hard. Pain feels unbearable at times. But Heaven replenishes. The knowledge that we were created for so much more than this life brings forth a fountain of hope. There IS purpose in suffering. There WILL be a day that things will be okay. They will be more than okay, actually. Things will be PERFECT. Although my little eyes struggle to see it, I know that my grandma is right when she says that all we can do is pray.

And face suffering with acceptance.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IExdrZGQVeI

Roomie Love

Last night (yes, mere hours after I blogged about not turning inward in suffering) my roommates listened to my sobs and thoughts on life, love, and the lack thereof. We sat around our kitchen table at 10:30 eating cookies and, despite their mess of a day, they listened to me. This is not the first time I have had a breakdown, nor will it be the last. But as I sit here reflecting on my life, I cannot help but smile in gratitude for these three women who care for me SO MUCH. Therefore, I wanted to share a few thoughts about the crazy-beautiful mess that is the "GUAD SQUAD."

My darlings



Let me start with my amazing Maggie Claire.

Maggie is a softy. Well, she's a softy for me. I met Maggie when we were born (just kidding, I met her our senior year of high school) and we became fast friends. She is one of those people who is not afraid to just be herself. Her growth as a woman has been incredible to witness. Maggie is one of those people who really thinks things through to be sure that her actions will reflect the life she intends to live. She is selfless in her love of others. Mags lets me be needy and selfish and she never, ever judges me for it. I ask her to rub my back daily. And she does. Without Maggie in my life, I would have never felt like anyone understood how painful therapy could be. She is going to do so many wonderful things for this world. Maggie has so much love to give and is very intentional in her care for others. 

Fun fact: Maggie always gets two double cheesburgers at McDonald's. Extra BBQ Sauce. <3

                                              And now for the beautiful Lily May. 

Lily is the strangest person I have ever met. She is also the most loving soul I have ever come in contact with. Last year Lily and I shared a room. This experience was her sanctity. She never complained when I would randomly crawl into her bed because I needed to snuggle (although she would kick me out if I accidentally touched her elbows). Lily is so steady in faith it is unreal. Her conviction in the Church truly inspires me and makes me want to learn and grow as a young woman in the Faith. She is always the one to challenge me to look outside the box and to realize that life is not always black and white. I love her random phone calls or texts throughout the day to tell me some stupid story that happened to her that morning. Lily is pure beauty, through and through. She literally glows ALL THE TIME. 

Fun fact: Lily likes her coffee with just a splash of creamer and hates that I put sugar in my tea. 

Last, but certainly not least, CLUR.

From the day we met when we were 14 years old, Claire has always been my biggest fan. She has been my first call when tragedy strikes, my loudest laugh when something idiotic occurs, and my jump of excitement when joy is present. Claire knows me better than any person in this world. She knows when to put her two cents in, when to remain quiet, and when to force me to lay next to her and cry because she knows I need it. I would not be who I am without her. Her prayers, her support, her unceasing attempts to show me my worth have lead me to the most joyful life with Christ. Claire is incredible. She holds me up when I can't seem to find my footing on this crazy journey in life. I have never seen anyone who can dance in sync with any song that comes on the radio. Claire can find any sort of information I need to know about a person (note: start setting your profiles as private if you don't want Claire to know everything about you, your mom, or your third cousin). Most importantly, she is a steady vessel of crazy love, emphasis on the "crazy." She is going to make someone so incredibly happy someday. For now, that person gets to be me. 

Fun fact: Claire prefers to not wear pants in the house and likes her cookies slightly undercooked.

These girls have been my best friends since high school. They are incredible and hilarious and sassy and BEAUTIFUL. They have taught me how to be a brave daughter of Jesus. They have taught me how to make decisions. They have taught me how to love my life in all its messy-ness. And they make my days so much brighter. I could never thank God enough for their lives. 

K. Sappy Sierra is done. 

Love and Suffering

"Thank you Jesus for loving me in this way."

Shut up. Seriously... Stop. This phrase, this beautiful quote, was laid before me at Totus Tuus training. While I was at training, reveling in joy and excitement for the summer ahead, I thought this phrase was the bees knees. Then I experienced the true self-denial in sacrificial love for my teammates. Each problem we had to conquer, every spat of homesickness, all the painful memories of my past that I had to work through...

"Thank you Jesus for loving me in this way." Who can honestly be grateful when God is allowing us to suffer? Who can whole-heartedly thank Him not only IN their pain, but FOR their pain? Call me a weakling, but I cannot (though I make sad attempts).

This past month of October I was an internal (and let's face it... external) complainer. "Jesus please give me these virtues and these gifts and this kind of faith. Oh and purity. Oh yeah, a boyfriend. Someone holy and perfect and just like you. Please help me with my grades. Oh, and can I wake up 10 pounds lighter and totally in shape? I need it. I want it. Please?"

What?

My heart is achy. My heart is longing for the beauty of Heaven so much that I let this earth suck. I turn inward. I am so desperate for joy and for beauty that I miss the daily miracle of being ALIVE. On this earth we are not promised a future, we are promised a moment. That moment is right where you are now- sitting on your couch, making dinner with your family, changing the world for someone else, or (if you are like me) getting lost in your own.

Never let pain have the upper hand. We get so caught up in ourselves, don't we? I have been forgetting the value of investment in the present moment. I have forgotten how to listen. I seem to become so engrossed in finding finding who I am and what I'm here for that I lose patience and turn inward. And that is never okay. There is an entire world that I need. No, they don't need me. I need the suffering, the joyful, the confused, the broken, and the whole. When we learn from those people, we invest in something that far surpasses our own selfishness. We are suddenly lifted from ourselves into a beautiful world of gratitude. Suffering helps us learn compassion. Compassion is love in action when there is suffering. And when we love, we are intentionally grateful despite ourselves. 

Honestly...Thank you Jesus. I wish to love you in this way.

Letter to the Suffering

Suffering Hearts,

             There are footsteps set before each of us that we must follow. Those footsteps lead us to Calvary. It is a broken road filled with sin, envy, regret, pain, loneliness, and an incurable hunger. The hill is steep and fragmented. There are three places where the dirt is noticeably disrupted--three spots on this path where a Man fell from the weight of a seemingly unbearable load. But He looked forward. He pushed on, moved ahead. 

             This road will be the hardest you have traveled, yet you will be consoled along the way. There will be people perfectly placed throughout the journey to weep for you, to pray for you, to wipe your face, to assist you in carrying your cross, and to give you drink when you realize that you thirst. And in the end, this road will lead you to love.

                 Love became full only after He agonized in Gethsemane. 

                 Love became full when He gave us His footprints to follow on the road to Calvary.

                 Love became full only after He let His heart be pierced. 

                 Love became full only after He died, lonely and bruised.

                 Then He ROSE. And so you too shall rise. 

Be compassionate, console one another. Remember that we are all so fortunate to walk in Love's footsteps together. 

                                       Sincerely, 

                                              A Fellow Sufferer


"Tell aching mankind to snuggle close to My merciful Heart, and I will fill it  with peace."
                                      -Jesus to St. Faustina 

Totus Tuus: Vermont

     Here I sit at a little wooden desk drinking coffee in Shelburne, Vermont. More than once this summer I have found myself asking: "How did I get here?" "What am I doing?" and most importantly, "Where can I find more caffeine?"

     I have found it is painstakingly easy to miss the daily opportunities to experience miracles in our every day lives. So much of society is focused on sheer nothingness in a chaotic world that thrives on finding "the next big thing." We invent new ways of communicating with one another so that we do not have to go out of our way to spend quality time with those we love. We create for ourselves busy schedules that lack purpose and peace. We eat, drink, and play without really experiencing. Where did the passion go? When did I, and the world, close our eyes to the joy that comes from simply waking up alive?

     Every week I give a talk at a parish after Mass. For those of you who have done Totus Tuus, you know how monotonous and methodic this speech is. "I'm here with a program called 'Totus Tuus.' Totus Tuus is Latin for 'Totally Yours,' signifying that we are totally Jesus' through His Mother, Mary."  That triggers the craziness of the week with loud children and host dinners and GOD IS GOOD ALL THE TIME. You find yourself praying in the morning because, well, it is part of your job description. Forever in a fishbowl, going through the motions. Forgetting miracles.

     I was teaching first and second graders last week. We talked about how Jesus, at the Mass, slips into His costume (the host and wine) at the consecration. One little boy asked me if he could take a picture. I said he could in his heart. As I skimmed over the kids at Mass that day, I saw his small fingers go up to his eyes at the consecration as if he were holding a camera. After Mass I asked him if he saw Jesus slip into His costume. "YEP! I put my camera on video." BOOM. Just like that. A seven year old reminded me of a daily miracle. 

     Being away from home has challenged me more than I ever dreamed possible. I miss my bed. I miss my roommates and friends. I miss my family. I miss my sweet "Jesus Bubble" that I had no idea existed before I stepped out of it. But all of that is nothing. Totus Tuus is exactly what it says it is... TOTALLY YOURS. Everything back home is His. Everything here in Vermont is His. None of this is mine. It was never mine to miss in the first place. I get to see my family and friends at Mass every day when Jesus steps into His costume... And THAT is a miracle.

     As per usual, this blog has been scatter-brained and long. For those of you who have been wondering how I am doing (MOM....), I am FINE. :) Vermont is lovely, my job is INCREDIBLE, and soon I will know how to drink my coffee black because I now need it every day. I cannot wait to be home and to more fully appreciate the beauty of The Good Life. Nebraska... I LOVE YOU. 

    I hate to admit this, but Jeff Schinstock was right when he said that I am not just DOING Totus Tuus this summer. I AM Totus Tuus this summer. I am living out what it means to trust fully in God's providence and care for my heart. This is something I will be challenging myself to do now for the rest of my life.

     "If I learned one thing from Mother Teresa it is this: You are nothing. I am nothing. We are simply fieldworkers for Christ."

     

Weighing Your Worth

So I thought (after extensive conversations and insights from friends) this deserved a blog. I needed to write about it and I figured many women out there needed to start thinking about it. Topic? Comparing your weight to your worth. Even further... Comparing any "negative" aspect of your body to your beauty and value as a woman.

This subject has been a hot topic for me lately. I've been running every day, eating healthy, and getting the right amount of sleep, yet cannot seem to lose weight. Why do I need to lose weight? Because I have been conditioned to think that beauty lies in flawless skin, a tight, fit body (with great breasts and a full backside), and a good haircut. Throw in a cute outfit and a woman is GOLDEN. And honestly, I'm starting to think that this ideal of beauty is a load of crap.

For the past few months I have avoided contact with mirrors. When I catch a glimpse of myself before a shower or as I dress in the morning, I shrug my shoulders and think, "Well, at least God is pleased with me" or "At least I have a good heart." Is it wrong to be in love with your soul? NO. But is it okay to shrug off your body so as to focus totally on your heart? No... it's not.

God made us fully woman. And ladies, He saw that "it was good." ALL OF IT. Your cellulite and your stretch marks and your overbite. Your flat chest and your curves and your blue eyes. Your amazon curly hair and the veins on the back of your legs. Your wrinkles and your acne and your button nose. Your dry skin and your flat feet and your stomach and the extra 10 pounds on your thighs. He saw it was good. He saw it was perfect. And then we threw it all away for Cosmopolitan, a low-cut t-shirt, and a fake tan (because apparently God didn't think our porcelain skin was beautiful when He made it).

We tell our daughters, our sisters, and our mothers about the latest diets we have tried to shed those extra pounds. We no longer work out for the sake of being healthy, we do it to "look our best." But what if looking our best is right now? What if we have ALWAYS looked our best? And what if, instead of teaching our daughters to watch their weight, we taught them to love their curves (or lack thereof) and embrace the goodness God made them in?

I know it is going to take a lot of work. Looking in the mirror and embracing the shape we were made in is going to take a lot of effort. But it is a challenge I am willing to accept. I am not telling everyone to go out and chow down on fast food every day for the rest of their lives. I am simply inviting women everywhere to make their body a temple for Him. Be healthy for Him. And do not avoid the mirror... for His sake. He formed you so beautifully.

Love Like a Babe

“Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven." Matthew 18:3

     Tonight I am going to build a fort. I'm going to crawl inside it and watch a movie with a few of my friends, and for a small blink of time we will be five years old again. 

     You know, I have always wondered what was meant by "becoming like a small child." There has to come a point in our lives where we set aside our childish ways and become young adults, right? At least that is what society has conditioned us to believe. Some people take maturity in terms of age: a 25 year old is more mature than a 19 year old.... fair enough to some extent. Some may view maturity as the amount of life lived in those years: what you have seen, what trials you have overcome, where you have been. And again, others may see it as the ability to plan financial decisions around a four to eight year college degree. I, however, see it in a much simpler light.
     In my small eyes maturity is not all about age, where one has been, or in one's ability to plan a future. It is about learning to own up to your mistakes, to make sound decisions from what life has taught you, and to walk through life seeing the world though the eyes of a little girl (or a little man, depending on who is reading this...). 
     This past week I was able to spend time with my Godchildren. Oh, my heart! Madelyn Kay is a blonde-haired, blue-eyed ball of sugar. I could not help but watch this 3 year old's every move. When I held her and read her a story, she rested in the safety of my arms. As we prayed together, she was simplistic and calm. Every kiss she gave me throughout the day was unguarded and loving. And every "I love you" was heartfelt and full.
     I closed my eyes today and thought of how sweet she looks when she sleeps. We were roommates this week, sharing my old bed. Madelyn still sleeps like she did when she was a babe; her hands folded, resting on her forehead. I then thought about the "date" she and I went on Tuesday night: Mass followed by dinner. As she held my hand on the way to my car at the end of the night she stopped and said, "Aunt Sierra... thank you for calling me princess." All I could think as my heart filled with her words was that she deserves to be called 'Princess' for the rest of her life, because that is what she is. She is a princess. 
    She revealed to me in that moment what it means to be childlike. God is calling me a princess every day. He wants me to be filled with that knowledge for the rest of my life. Every move Mady makes shows me what God is asking of me. She is relentless in love, she trusts, she feels safe when my arms are wrapped around her. She never questions my love for her... she knows she will never have to. 
     Yes, God is calling each of us to grow and mature in this world, to grow deeper and further in knowledge and faith. Yet when it comes to a relationship with Him, all He asks is for us to be in awe of the world He has created for us, unguarded in our love for Him and for each other, and to trust in His storybook plan for our lives (The Bible, a story, a book... see what I did there, eh?). 

So tonight as I make a fort after working all day, I will see how adulthood can meet God's expectations of remaining childlike in faith. And when I rest my 20 year old eyes at night, I will sleep in the comfort of my Father's arms. We never have to question His love. 

SEEK2013

     So after a few weeks of neglecting this blog, I guess it's time for an update on the wonderful thoughts of Sierra Ann Weber. (Why the heck do you people actually read this, anyway?)
     I had the incredible opportunity to attend the FOCUS Conference in Orlando, FL over Christmas break. SEEK2013 was nothing I expected, and everything I needed. I am constantly blown away at how well God knows my heart. And yours. He knows your heart, too. Which is why I write this blog today.
     Initially, I thought of writing about SEEK in general; the uplifting speakers, the BEAUTIFUL resort we stayed at, the new friends I made. But none of that seemed sufficient. The theme for SEEK was, "Seek what moves you." As I sat at daily Mass with 6000 college students, stood in line for over an hour to go to confession, and listened to numerous testimonies from people that came from all walks of life... I realized we were all seeking what stirred our hearts. We were all running together. Different paces, yes, but together.
     God is so gentle in His pursuit of our hearts. For men, He is a steady witness of true manhood. He hangs upon the cross bathed in His own blood, showing all those fallen Adams out there what it means to protect their bride. And for women, He is a kind reminder that "chivalry is not dead." He patiently nudges the doors of our hearts, but will never impose. So different in approach is He to each of us.
     I encourage you to pray today about how God is seeking your heart. How is He pursuing you today? It may be in a child's laugh, a class that got out early, or a kind word from a stranger. He is SO present in these little mysteries that lie between our conception and our passing from this world. SEEK His love. Because I promise He is seeking yours.


FOOD FOR THOUGHT:
     I listened to a friend of mine speak at a retreat once, and she read 1 Corinthians 13. She altered it, however, to replace "love" with "God." This was so beautiful to me. Meditate on these words to see how God is love, and what that means in regards to a relationship with Him.


   "God is patient, God is kind; He is not jealous or boastful, He is not arrogant or rude. God is not selfish; He is not irritable or resentful. He does not rejoice in the wrong, but rejoices in the truth. God bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things."






 

The Hopeless Hopeful

     Imre Bonyhady will be a widower nine years tomorrow. Mr. Imre was the janitor at my grade school growing up, and I clearly remember his face as his wife neared death. I had just turned twelve years old, and my heart ached for this man. Coming back to school after Christmas break, I would often talk to Mr. Imre, small talk, asking how he was holding up. A smile, I thought, could help his hurting heart.

     After I left junior high I did not run into him for years, though he crossed my mind often. My senior year of high school I was working as a hostess at a restaurant, when he walked in. After all that time, he still remembered me. That night as he left, he hugged me warmly and thanked me for all those years ago. Mr. Imre tipped me $50. I went home and cried over his generosity, and over the overwhelming feeling that God worked through my little heart so long ago.

     I see Mr. Imre every year or two, usually at Mass. He is old now, bones aching and hair thinning. Mr. Imre sat in front of my family at Mass this morning, the same look of loss on his face I saw so many years ago. Instead of sitting with my family, I decided to sit with him after communion. His face grew peaceful, yet sorrowful, when he saw me take a place next to him. He knew that I remembered.

     Tomorrow. Christmas Eve. This man lost his wife the day before Jesus came into the world. And now here he is, alone, growing very old. My heart was hurting for him this morning as we sat and caught up after Mass. I asked how he was holding up. He replied, "I would not have been able to make it the past nine years without a devotion to our Lord. And especially to Saint Terese."

     This man who I touched so long ago is returning the favor nine years later. How much we can all learn from him! Although he misses his wife, he takes comfort in the Church and in God. He unknowingly wore grief on his face today, but his heart is filled with hope. And when I talk to him, it makes me hopeful, too. 

    

 I am so lucky to have crossed his path again today. He is one of those silent angels that I know God placed on my journey with His own fingertips.

"For I know well the plans I have in mind for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare, not for woe! Plans to give you a future full of hope." Jeremiah 29:11

Great Expectations

     There are few things I anticipate more than seeing those dress blues twice a year. My brother Kenton has been in the Marines for around four years now, and I am one incredibly proud sister. Growing up, and still to this day, Kenton and I have never been extremely close. In fact, sometimes I struggle to find the right words to begin conversations with him. The ease that I feel with my other siblings I rarely feel when I am with him. And yet, as the years go on, I cannot help but love Kenton more and more.

     Our lives are so vastly different. I want so badly for Kenton to share in my faith with me, to feel God the way I do, to love Him and give his life for Him. But that is MY journey at this present moment, not his. I am learning, slowly but surely, to let go of the expectations I have for my family, and see the beauty that they exude RIGHT NOW. They are incredible.

     Tonight I sat on my bed chatting with Kyle, another of my older brothers. Since I graduated high school, Kyle and I have stayed close. He is my protector, who I seek for advice, and my prayer partner for our beautiful Goddaughter. Kyle was talking to me about giving, about keeping an eye out for those who are struggling. He told me tonight that Kenton is always the one to leave a big tip when the waitress looks exhausted. Kenton will go inside gas stations and pay for the man's gas at the pump behind his car when he sees that the man is not well off. I was dumbfounded.

     We grew up with little. My mom worked three jobs to provide for us, but we never had excess. And yet, I am amazed at how inclined we all are to give what little we do have. Tonight, for the first time in my life, I was able to see Jesus in my brother. Little random acts of kindness that my eyes have been closed to, as I selfishly pushed my dreams on him. My heart's desires for my family are not bad ones. In fact, they are simply to get them to Heaven and to see them live fulfilled lives. However, my wants were getting in the way of seeing the souls of the very people I love the most. Tonight I saw a glimpse of Heaven at home.

Closing thought for tonight: What if our expectations for someone else hinder us from seeing the good they have in their hearts? Everyone has potential, but God loves them where they are RIGHT NOW. And so should we. 

Tis the Season

So my crazy best friend Claire began her blog last night, and inspired me to begin one myself. I have always wanted to explore the "blogger realm," but have never found the time nor the motivation to do so. With the very apparent outbreak of chaos in the world, and let's face it, so much chaos in my own scheduled life, there is no better time than now to write about good, sweet, and joyful things. And here begins...

I once had a bible study leader by the name of Katie Ridder. She was the most joyful, inspirational, and holy person I have ever had the blessing of knowing. She dropped out of college to fulfill God's plan for her life: to serve Him as a Missionary of Charity. Before she left, she had a lasting impact on who I am growing into as a young woman. One night around Thanksgiving, she had all the girls in my bible study write down the things we were thankful for. There was a catch, however: We were only to write down the bad things in our lives. Each girl was to write down the hardships they had endured throughout their lifetime, and from that, write all the good fruit that was harvested from the pain. Surprisingly, every tragedy had a ripple effect of beauty that sprung forth from it. As we shared the brightness that came forth from our night, we cried tears infused with suffering and joy as we realized where our journeys had lead us. "Do you ever think," Katie said, "That in those moments when everything seems so dark, that really it isn't dark at all? That maybe God's love is so present in that moment that you are blinded?"

I have been thinking a lot about that night lately, and about gratitude. Every night I come home to three beautiful, quirky, kind, and hilarious roommates. I see all four of our towels lined up in our bathroom, all of our toothbrushes, our shampoo bottles, our hair ties and I think to myself, "Lord, how could I ever ask for anything more than this present moment? How could I ever be more fulfilled than I am right now?" And with that prayer, the stresses of bills, rent, school, work, and life seem to melt away. I cannot help but smile every night with blissful gratitude.

It even goes for my family. Sometimes my mother drives me up the wall! The other day we were driving in the car together, and I was ready for comfortable silence. She had other plans, as she chatted giddily next to me about pointless details and happenings in life. Agitated because I wanted to simply sit quietly together, I responded with weak laughter and multiple "MMHMMs." But as she talked, I couldn't help thinking to myself, "She loves me. She cares so much about me, and she wants to talk to me. I have a mother who genuinely wants to love on me and connect with me." And I could not help but feel grateful.

To end this hopelessly long blog, I want to remind everyone that despite the circumstances of your life, there are so many things to be thankful for. You have a God who LOVES you. You have air, and light, and the choice to love. Remember that. How we choose to embrace the circumstances in our lives is up to us: we can make ourselves happy or we can make ourselves miserable. The amount of effort is going to be the same for both. And in those moments when everything seems dark, look for traces of the light. God's love is blinding in those moments. He's there, walking with you.

My focus this Advent has been asking Mary to hold me in the tabernacle of her womb. Right now, Jesus has yet to be born. He is inside her for one more week. I close my eyes and think about a child about to be born. They are in their mother's womb, and they want for nothing. They are safe, warm, and provided for. When their mother eats, they are nourished. When they hear their mother sing, they are soothed. I cannot think of a more peaceful place to spend this season, than safely hidden with Jesus in Our Mother's womb.

I will ask for nothing, because He will provide. And despite the chaos that could come at any moment, my hope does not lie in the things of this world. God's love is so present in those shadows it is as if I were in the safe darkness of Mary's womb, peacefully resting with Jesus.

Merry Christmas, sweet children of God.