my life Archives - Page 4 of 4 Held By His Pierced Hands

48 States

Friends, I write to you from a random coffee shop in some town in upstate New York¹ where fall has already hit (it’s 55 degrees and sunny at 2pm) and half the radio stations are in French. But despite the sweet small town community that’s coming and going around me, the world is dark today. There is tumult and terror in the world (as always, God help us) and I know I ought to write about Syria. And maybe eventually I will. But right now, I have nothing to offer but sorrow and a plea for prayer and fasting. So take a minute and offer a prayer for peace.

And now let’s just geek out a minute with a little update on my life.

Look at that cool map! You can see everything about it (or at least the parts I remembered to add) here. These are my travels over the last 15 months. Why am I showing you the map now? Because on Monday I hit 48 states!² And not just 48 states as a hobo–48 states in 365 days, which is awfully exciting. So I thought y’all might like to see everywhere that I remember having gone.

And check out this map:

That’s a map of views of my blog in different countries, with a list of countries where I get the most hits on the left. Do you see that people are reading my blog in India? And rather frequently in the Philippines? What a funny thing the internet is! And my blog has been viewed in 158 countries! Now I can’t say if all those views were intentional or not, but probably each page view means a die-hard fan. And since Google tells me there are only 196 countries in the world which means I’m famous in more than 80% of the world!!

In the past 15 months, I’ve slept in at least 88 beds/couches/patches of linoleum and given at least 100 talks/retreats/conferences. I’ve stayed in 36 states and spoken in 22.³ I’ve been to Mass in 36 states, but not the same 36 that I’ve stayed in–one of the idiosyncrasies of the hobo life.

So thanks! Thanks to everyone who read or subscribed or shared a post. Thanks to those who invited me to speak or just to visit. Thanks for recommending me to your priest or youth minister, even if nothing came of it. Thanks for your prayers, without which I’d be even more of a disaster than I am. I don’t know how long I’ll be doing this hobo thing, but I know I couldn’t do it without you all. To God be the glory!

And now, after 15 months of intense and systematic research, I’ve come up with some definitive judgments about the United States.⁴

Most hospitable: the U.S. Military.
Worst traffic: L.A. It’s constant and impenetrable. I don’t know how people live that way–and I grew up in D.C. I guess the beach and the constant sunshine are pretty good consolations for the gridlock.
Just going out for lemonade.
Coolest public transportation: Rhode Island water taxis.
Most surprising beauty: Utah. I don’t know why I thought it was a flat desert (you’d think the skiing in the Olympics would have tipped me off) but I was stunned by the beauty of the green mountains plunging into crystal clear lakes. Incredible.
Most ridiculous: New York. These people really don’t ever sleep! Add to that the traffic and the crowds and the noise and that topless lady in Times Square, and I’ll enjoy my visit but be happy to leave.
Most responsive to my ministry: U.S. Military women/wives, western Kansas, the Georgia Tech Catholic Center.
Best liturgical music: St. Benedict’s of Wild Rice in Horace, North Dakota. No, really.
Worst cell reception: Montana. Honorable mentions: Wyoming, Vermont, New Hampshire, Idaho, western Kansas, upstate New York. Maybe I just need a new provider….
Hardest to find an open church: Las Vegas.
This…striking tabernacle is not in one of the glorious old Polish/Italian/German churches.

Most beautiful churches: Cleveland, of all places.
Best liturgy: The diocese of Arlington and the diocese of Madison. And it’s a good thing about Madison, too–Masses in other parts of Wisconsin left me near despair.
Most enthusiastic: all college students.
Most beautiful homes: Mobile, Alabama.
Most ridiculous weather: Colorado. Snow in May? 60 degrees the next day? Go home, Colorado, you’re drunk.
Most exciting youth programs: St. John’s in Hollywood, Maryland. Kids evangelizing kids–it’s great! And they’re working on a way to spread their program to parishes around the country. If you’re interested, let me know. I’ll get you the information when it’s available.
Favorite new food: fried pies in Texas.
Most unpaved roads: Vermont. I drove 20 miles on unpaved roads to get from Mass this morning to tonight’s destination. Not because Google was stupid or because of construction. Apparently, that’s just how they roll.
Most likely to have traffic for no good reason: Pennsylvania. Also DC, but that’s not news to anybody.
Most likely to be under construction: Minnesota.
The view from the road in Montana…in June.

Most scenic views from the road: Oregon and Montana.
Worst drivers: Boston. Why do they even have lane markings?
Best grocery store: Wegmans.
Highest tolls: NYC.
Most obnoxious tolls: Orlando. If you don’t have Florida’s pass, you have to pull off the highway to pay a toll every 3 miles. Which brings me to my soap box: WHY can we not have a universal toll pass in this country? Surely my EZPass could work on tolls in other toll systems–why doesn’t it???
Funniest: The little girl in Kansas whose “question” at the end of my talk was “Sometimes we puke in the sink.”
- Tied with YFL conference leaders–check out this amazing video they made for my evangelization talk. Spot on, and they hadn’t even met me!
Emptiest: Wyoming. At least the southern half. Man, there’s just nothing there!
Most likely to secede: Maine. They’re already using kilometers, folks. It’s just a matter of time.

There you have it–feel free to defend your hometown in the comments. And in case you’re wondering, the next few months look a little like this: New York, Iowa, Nebraska, South Dakota, Minnesota, Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, Louisiana, Alabama, Georgia, North Carolina, Virginia, Kansas, Maryland, Hawaii…Illinois…the Cayman Islands…Virginia…California? It gets a little vague after January. For more details, check out the schedule that I sometimes remember to update. And if you want me to come speak anywhere to any group on any topic (marginally related to Jesus) for free, just let me know!

P.S. Need something to smile about? How about our fantastic pope?

Well, okay, I started there. But then the owner of that little coffee shop in that little town wants to close up to go see a friend before taking his wife out to celebrate their anniversary. So now I’m in somebody’s house. [↩]
Alaska and New Mexico. I’ve got something in the works for Alaska, but not till the summer. New Mexico needs to get on the ball! [↩]
So you might not count my having driven through the others as having been there. But…well, deal with it. [↩]
Even the ones I’ve only driven through a corner of for half an hour. Sorry Arizona–it was a remarkable 30 miles. [↩]

One Year and Counting

Well, friends, it’s been a year. One year of crazy-driving, blogging, speaking, couch-crashing, hobo fun. When I started this ministry a year ago, I figured that I’d live out of my car for a month or two before settling down. But the longer I do this, the more I feel like this might be a long-term thing. The Lord doesn’t seem to like it when I plan, so I have no idea what “long term” means, but…well, a while.

So what have I done this year?

Taken up permanent residence in my car
Started a Facebook page and a Twitter account
Gotten a cell phone
Visited 37 states (should be up to at least 44 by the end of the summer–New England, here I come!)
Spoken in 14 states
Put 30,000 miles on my car
Spoken to thousands of people from age 3 to 97
Done one-on-one ministry with dozens of people
Written 128 blog posts
Had 215,000 page views
Racked up 500 likes on my Facebook page
Done a whole lot of discerning
Stayed with dozens of friends and strangers who became friends
Taken a break to help my sister with her million babies
Ignored trolls
Persevered through a lot of boring prayer
Walked in both (American) oceans and the Gulf of Mexico
Gone from the Redwood forest to the Gulf Sea waters
Had more than my fair share of car trouble
Been shocked by the generosity of God’s people
Learned to accept generosity
Given plenty of talks that were so Spirit-led I wanted to stop and ask someone to record them just so I could listen and learn later
Fallen flat and remembered that it’s not about me
Made people cry
Made people angry
Begun to realize that whatever I might believe about myself, nobody else thinks I’m needy and self-obsessed
Felt absolutely wanted
Felt completely disregarded
Been terrified but hopeful¹
Made plans 6 months in advance
Given a talk with 10 seconds notice
Changed the topic of my talk five minutes in
Been recognized by a stranger
Been on the radio
Been nominated for an award
Driven 12-hour-days without batting an eye
Experienced Providence at work every single day–in crazy ways
Spent January in Virginia, Georgia, Hawaii, and Florida
Spent February in Indiana and northern Ohio
Seen snow in May
Almost passed out from heat exhaustion a week later
Gotten 3 new nieces
Had so much work to do I’m exhausted
Had so little work to do I’m bored out of my mind
Tried and tried and tried to trust and let Him lead

Thank you to everyone who’s invited me to speak or shared my blog or commented or liked a post or followed me on Facebook or slipped some money into my hand or thanked me for speaking or shared your heart with me or prayed for me or prayed with me for others or loved and supported me in any way. If I didn’t have y’all supporting me, I couldn’t do anything. God is using you and your openness and kindness and generosity to do (I hope) good work in this world. Thank you.

And now, a little slide show of highlights from this year:

Been so fun--and sober. — Been so fun–and sober

And the littles. And Charlotte who I know I have a picture with but I can't find it right now. — And the littles. And Charlotte who I know I have a picture with but I can’t find it right now

Dealt with a lot of snow. — Dealt with a lot of snow

Gotten stuck in the mud. — Gotten stuck in the mud

Met up with former students all over the country

And a million other things I forgot to take pictures of. Keep on praying for me, friends!

For those who are wondering, John’s out of the ICU and in a neurological rehab facility. His parents are optimistic and there have been plenty of miracles but not (yet) the miracle of a full recovery–or even of speech. Please keep praying. [↩]

Your Mom

One of the most addictive things about this blogging business is the site statistics that WordPress gives you access to. You know, how many people have viewed which post, what links led them there, that type of thing. There’s also a section that tells you what people googled to find you. My all-time favorite is “christian nudists.”

Christian nudists?!?! Is that even a thing?? WHY??? And why on EARTH did Google think I had anything to say about that? Until today, I’m pretty sure the word nudist wasn’t anywhere on my blog.

Or December’s “what are jesse stem in catholic church.” Well, I don’t know. What are jesse stem in catholic church?

I’ve seen “I’m a consecrated virgin falling in love” which broke my heart. Friend, whoever you are, I’m praying for you!

But I saw one a while back that took my breath away: “what can write to tell my mother i adore her.”

Oh, my. I don’t know why the internet thinks you’ll find the answer here, but you certainly deserve it. What a beautiful question! And in honor of my mother’s birthday, I’ll attempt an answer by trying it myself. Want to know how amazing my mom is? Read on.

She loved us enough to take us to the Eiffel Tower, although apparently not enough to buy Timmy shorts of a reasonable length.

I spent 20 years in fantastic schools but my mother is the greatest teacher I’ve had. Even working 40 hours a week, she managed to instill in every one of her children a love of learning. For some of us, it’s sometimes more a love of knowing all the things than a true love of discovery, but the fact remains that my mother’s children are far better-educated than even our impressive resumes would indicate.

I can still hear her chanting the common feet of English poetry, making the analysis of a poem’s meter a game until I couldn’t hear Dr. Seuss without automatically counting and muttering, “anapestic tetrameter.” She taught me impeccable grammar and when to ignore it for the sake of style. She taught me fabulous words, above all when I was in trouble. To this day, the words “plebeian” and “troglodyte” always make me think of my mother. She taught us to sing, to harmonize, and to recognize every Beatles song ever written.¹ Don’t tell her I said this, but I kind of wish she had homeschooled us–she’s so educated and so interesting and knows so much more about so many things than I do.²

Almost as much as learning she taught me to love teaching. I remember thinking, when my little brother was just 4, that the best present I could give my mother was teaching him to read. When that failed, I recorded my voice reading Winnie the Pooh on a stack of cassettes to give him for his fifth birthday. My mother had taught me, after all, how important it is to read to a child. And if she wasn’t reading to us, she was telling us stories. Old family stories, over and over again, stories she made up about a good witch, fairy tales or fables. You may have noticed from this blog that I can’t make a point without telling a story. You have my mother to thank for that.

My mother taught me to love books and specifically to love books more than the movies made from them. To this day I loathe Disney’s Winnie the Pooh and I look with disdain at the Julie Andrews Mary Poppins. She made books the consummate treat, a prize for good grades or a bribe to keep us quiet on road trips. We were raised to read voraciously because what else would one do? What was life without books? It would be like life without etymology or analysis or love–empty.

I have more pictures of my mom with our dogs than with me.... — I have more pictures of my mom with our dogs than with me….

My mother raised responsible children. We got allowances from a young age but only if we were willing to perform a list of chores. If we tired of a certain chore, we could only quit if a sibling would switch with us. And even being handed money was an educational experience. See, when I got $5 a week, I only ever saw $4. Before I even got the money, 10% went to charity and 10% went to savings. I only ever counted on 80% of my earnings and it’s the same today. When a little old lady on the street hands me $20 to support my ministry, I pull out a notecard and add $2 to the tally of what I have to give away. We were always taught to give first, to save second, and to spend only what’s necessary. To this day, I call my mother when I need financial advice. Even before I google, I call her.

My parents have always been supportive of their children, whatever we wanted to do, although not entirely without reservations. The year that I decided that I wanted to be a cheerleader instead of playing soccer, my mother made me write an essay about why I wanted to be a cheerleader. I also had to express in that essay that I understood that this choice was irreversible and that if allowed to cheer I would not be able to quit midseason or to play soccer as well. I was seven. But I wrote the essay and when I hated cheerleading and wanted to put on pads and play football with the boys, my mother didn’t even say, “I told you so” when driving me to cheer practice anyway. She let me make my own choice–and then let me live with it.

My mother didn’t just let us be ourselves, she rejoiced when we were ourselves. She wasn’t even embarrassed by us when she really, by all rights, should have been. Like the time that we went to watch her in a spelling bee.³ My sister and I acted like wild animals, literally howling and barking when she spelled words correctly. My mother just laughed as everybody around us looked entirely uncomfortable and rather confused.

So when I moved to Harlem for a summer at 18, my mother supported me. When I gave away everything I owned to join the convent, my mother supported me. When I went to Palestine by myself for a month, she supported me. But more than that–she marveled at me. She didn’t harp on concerns for my safety or my future–she trusted me to do the right thing and bragged about me to all her friends. Because my mother isn’t just proud of her children, she’s in awe of us; a love like that makes you feel as though you really can do anything.

See, my father loves his children blindly. No matter what we do, he thinks we are better at it than anybody else has ever been. My mother loves us with her eyes wide open. She sees the good in us and magnifies it. Despite being wildly intelligent and talented herself, she doesn’t feel the need to elevate herself. Instead, she calls me to ask theology questions or my brother to ask about grammar. Never mind that she’s been writing and editing longer than we’ve been alive, she defers to his judgment because she knows he’s right. Never mind that I might never have known Christ if not for her, she lets me lead. She trusts my sister’s musicality and my little brother’s knowledge of politics above her own even though those are both places where she excels. She’s told me again and again that the thing she is most pleased about in her life is the fact that each of her children is better than her at something she loves. It takes a true mother to rejoice in being surpassed.

You'd think from looking at them that they were on their way to their 8th grade dance, but this was my parents' wedding day. My father's wearing a brown tweed bell-bottom suit--the same one my little brother wore to his confirmation in 8th grade some 25 years later. — You’d think from looking at them that they were on their way to their 8th grade dance, but this was my parents’ wedding day. My father’s wearing a brown tweed bell-bottom suit–the same one my little brother wore to his confirmation in 8th grade some 25 years later. Swag.

I spend a lot of time talking about the importance of a father’s love for his daughter. But a mother like mine will change your life. She taught me to be strong but compassionate, to be convicted but open. My unabashedly pro-life Democrat feminist of a mother taught me not to swallow an ideology hook, line, and sinker but to question and seek truth, even if it meant raised eyebrows and accusations and a lifetime of not fitting in. And while I rebelled against her faith when I was young–and then rebelled against her approach to faith when I came to Christ–it was my mother who showed me what it meant to be a woman of prayer. If she had been any different, who knows where I’d be? I needed her to be Christian so that I could run from that and to be not-so-Catholic so I could embrace orthodoxy once I stopped running. And when I look at her now, how she’s submitted again and again to reason and truth and sometimes just to authority when all her instincts were crying out against it–well, I begin to wish I was a little more like her in matters of faith. My mother is a faithful Catholic in every way not because she wanted to be but because she loved God more than she loved herself.

Sometimes I forget how much mothers matter because it’s so easy to take mine for granted. I never had to fight for my mother’s approval. I never had to wonder what she thought of me because my mother has told me since the day I was born just how fabulous she thinks I am. My strong, brilliant, compassionate mother doesn’t just love me because I’m hers, she loves me because I’m me, which must mean I’m something special. And she loves me so completely that I’ve never questioned it.

As I wander about the country doing my hobo thing, I’m often asked what my parents think of this life I lead. The first time someone asked, I was confused. “Well they’re my parents,” I said. “So they think it’s awesome.” You know you’re doing something very, very right when it doesn’t even occur to your kids that you wouldn’t be proud of them.

This might be my favorite picture of all time. I'm in the stripes. — This might be my favorite picture of all time. I’m in the stripes.

So here’s to my mom, who loves me so hard that I can’t imagine being unloved. Here’s to my mom, who believes in me even when the world thinks I’m nuts. Here’s to my mom who taught me to love books and music and words and Christ. Here’s to my mom who can’t help but support her kids–even when it means challenging them in ways that may tick them off. Because my mom isn’t about feel-good love. She loves in a turning-over-tables, weeping-for-your-pain, going-joyfully-to-the-cross kind of way. I hope you’re as blessed in your mother as I am in mine.

P.S. NOW who’s your favorite child?

The answer to, “Kids, who sings this song?” was always “The Beatles” unless it was very obviously The Beach Boys. [↩]
Of course, I probably would have pitched an enormous fit to lose out on all-day socializing in favor of being better-educated, but still. [↩]
Which, in retrospect, is rather strange. Who has adult spelling bees? [↩]

I Didn’t Choose the Hobo Life

I get a lot of ridiculous questions, ranging from the confusing to the totally strange. For example:

Q: “Did you know I was born in California?” (from a 4th-grader I’d never met.)

Q: “Do you do birthday parties?” (from a middle school boy following a chastity talk.)
A: “If you have a chastity-themed birthday party, I will be your best friend.”

Q: “Has anyone ever told you that you sound like you’re from Alabama?”
A: “No…. Thank you?”

Q: “Are you really a hobo cause you don’t look like a hippie and you don’t have hair down to your butt.”
A: ….

Most of these questions merit an eye roll at best. There’s one, though, that I often hear and try to answer thoughtfully: How did you know God was calling you to this?

I don't have any pictures where I look like a hobo. But what's a blog post without a picture? So.... — I don’t have any pictures where I look like a hobo. But what’s a blog post without a picture? So….

I suppose I ought to establish first that I don’t know that God is calling me to this funny hobo life—not in the way that I know that he exists or that the Eucharist is truly him or that he wants me for his own. There are different kinds of knowing, of course, and some decisions require that sort of certainty. But what I’m doing is a good thing, so feeling confident that this is his will is good enough for me. If I never did anything until I knew God was calling me to, I’d accomplish very little in life. That being said….

I loved teaching. Loved it. For four and a half years, I would get excited Sunday nights because I got to go to school Monday mornings. I loved sleeping in but hated summers—I missed my kids! And while I’m naturally a very irritable person, I got angry in the classroom only twice in four and a half years.

Unfortunately, I taught for five.

My last semester should have been my easiest. For the first time in my teaching career, I was teaching only classes I’d taught before. Everything I was doing was recycled from past classes. I had no extracurriculars, no responsibilities aside from teaching…and I was miserable. I felt ill on Sunday nights because I knew I had to go in to school the next day. I was exhausted all the time even though I was getting plenty of sleep. And at least three times a week, I had to stop talking, turn around, and pray that I wouldn’t freak the heck out all over my kids.

This is my ANGRY FACE. In a stocking. Trying to be a robber and still looking entirely like myself.

I had always known that my patience in the classroom wasn’t natural–it was a supernatural gift. And clearly that gift had been withdrawn. When my circumstances are unchanged but my peace of mind is lost, I know it’s time to ask the Lord what’s up.

But I didn’t want to jump to the conclusion that I was dealing with spiritual desolation, so I took a look at anything in the natural world that might be messing with me. Work was good, friends were good, my prayer life was good but I was all anxiety and anger and irrational drama.

So I began to ask the Lord if I should leave my school in Kansas. Praying about leaving gave me great peace while the idea of staying made me tense and miserable. I’m not saying that we ought to discern based entirely on emotions, but I’ve found that it’s important to listen to our emotions, especially when they’re not what we’d expect. I sure didn’t want to leave Atchison, so when that idea gave me such peace, I listened.

My next step, of course, was to make up an Excel spreadsheet with all the schools I might want to teach at. You know, columns for size, uniform, curriculum, apparent fidelity.¹ But the thought occurred to me, “What if I’m supposed to stop teaching?”

Now, I had discerned leaving the classroom once before. I had a panic attack and almost crashed my car. More than anything, I thought at the time, I know that I’m a teacher. But this time it was different. The idea of not teaching wasn’t so bad. In fact, and contrary to all reason, I found it rather attractive.

But friends, I’ve been planning on being a teacher, in one form or another, my whole life. Since I was 15 and I found out that you could get paid to talk about Jesus, being a religion teacher was all I really dreamed of. I chose my college and my major and my grad degree all with the purpose of being a high school religion teacher. “What else can I do?” I thought. “This is all I’ve ever done, all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Well,” my friend Fr. Jeremy suggested, “You’re good at public speaking. And you’ve been wanting to do more of it.”

“Father, you can’t just quit life and be a public speaker!” I objected. And then I took it to prayer.

“Tell me why not,” the Lord seemed to say. And I thought about it. I had no debt, no dependents, no debilitating diseases. I had enough savings to cover me for a while and not a lot of bills I’d have to pay. Why not?

And this type-A, plan-the-next-30-years, put-down-roots-and-stay-till-you-die girl got excited about the strangest thing: being a hobo. This life that is so contrary to everything I’d ever wanted was suddenly appealing—more than appealing: it felt right.

Now, don’t quote me as saying “if it feels good, do it.” But when something that we wouldn’t normally consider draws us, we need to pay attention.

Thomas Aquinas had it right when he told us that grace builds on nature. But we don’t know our nature as well as the Lord does. I would never have thought that this kind of life would work for me. After all, I’m all about relational ministry and assigning homework and knowing everybody around me. But I also love meeting new people and socializing. I’m flexible and fairly easy to please and not particular about beds or food or how I take my water.² I’m extraverted enough that the constant conversation with my hosts energizes me and committed enough to prayer that I still get plenty of “alone” time. As it turns out, this life makes a lot of sense for me. I can work with more people, be as intense as I want, and spend some occasional time writing, which I didn’t even realize I enjoyed. It seems that, once again, the Lord knows better than I.

Which is why I'm in frigid Kansas in April when I could be somewhere glorious and exotic. To be fair, this picture is from South Bend in February, but it's not because the weather wasn't this gross. — Which is why I’m in frigid Kansas in April when I could be somewhere glorious and exotic. To be fair, this picture is from South Bend in February, but it’s not because the weather this week wasn’t this gross.

So I quit my job and didn’t look for another. I wasn’t planning on living out of my car for long, but the Lord seems to have had other plans. I thought I’d find a place to live over the summer. But everything was working out, so I figured I’d travel till October. Then January. Then it began to look like this might be a long-term thing.

I can’t tell you exactly why I’m doing what I’m doing but I can tell you that I’ve seen how the Lord is touching hearts through the testimony of this scatter-brained nomad. I don’t know that people would listen to me the way they do if I weren’t such a fanatic. I do know that the minute I say I’m a hobo, people snap to attention. I know that I’m able to connect with people who wouldn’t otherwise talk with me because they want to ask all the awkward questions about my life. And I know that the Lord is showing me over and over again how he will always provide for me.

How long am I going to be living out of my car? I have no idea. I’m a planner, but God seems to prefer that I trust and follow. So for now, I’m headed out west. Beyond that, who knows?

************

Speaking of heading out west, I have literally nothing scheduled between Wednesday and mid-July. And while I’m sure I’ll find places to stay, I’m going to be really bored! So if you’re in any state west of the Mississippi and you want me to come talk to any group about pretty much anything, let me know. I don’t even want your money, just an opportunity to serve. I’m trying to get to every state out west in the next 3 months and I need some help. Because really, does anybody live in Wyoming?

If you’re east of the Mississippi, don’t feel left out—I’ll be out your way in the fall.

What, this isn’t how you make all decisions? Yeah, well, I didn’t choose the nerd life either. [↩]
This varies more than I thought possible. Options include: bottled water, tepid; bottled water, chilled; tap water, tepid; tap water in a pitcher in the fridge; tap water through a filter, tepid; filtered tap water sitting on the counter; filtered tap water, in the fridge; filtered water from the fridge door, ice from the fridge door; filtered water from the fridge door, ice from the freezer; tap water, ice from the basement; tap water, ice from the freezer; jugs of water in the fridge. That may be it. [↩]

I’m Glad Pope Benedict Is Resigning

I’m always creeping people out talking about how cute he is, but come on! How can you not love that face??

I loved JPII. He was the pope of my conversion, the pope whose eyes shouted love for me. There were moments in my youth when I believed the lies the world tells about the Church’s misogynistic and antiquated ways, times when I felt that perhaps it was just some patriarchal bureaucracy. But I knew that my Papa loved me–not loved everybody, but loved me. When I couldn’t believe that God loved me, this Pope who responded to cries of “We love you!” with “Perhaps I love you more”–he showed me the love of Christ in a powerful way.

When he died, I sobbed. And then I rejoiced. I had loved him for so long but I knew that, as much as he loved me, he would never know my name. I studied in Rome for a semester to be near him, but 5 seats in from the aisle was the closest I was going to get. In death, he knew me. In death, he listened to me. In death, he sat beside me at the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.

I was fully prepared to love his successor, but I knew that I would never adore him the way I adored John Paul.

And I was right. I don’t love Pope Benedict that way–but I love him just as much. See, JPII is my number 2 crush of all time. No joke, I see pictures of him at 60 and I think he’s the handsomest man I’ve ever seen. I don’t even notice that he’s old. I don’t feel that way about Papa Benny; I don’t swoon over his pictures or get butterflies in my stomach when I think about him. He’s not exciting–not the rock star John Paul was–but he feels like home. When I look at his picture or read his words, I know that I am held in the Father’s embrace. I suppose I loved JPII like I love Christ. But I love Pope Benedict like I love the Father.

So this morning’s news stunned me. Not only are we losing him, in essence, but he’s choosing to go. And yet I feel no sense of betrayal, not even confusion. There may not be a holier man in the world today; if he feels the Lord has asked him to abdicate, I trust him.

Nor does any man more deserve to retire to a life of prayer. For 85 years, Pope Benedict has poured out his life for the Church. In recent years, he has prayed and written and spoken and traveled and suffered ridicule and abuse and yet still he loves us. A dear student of mine was blessed to meet him once; she told me that she has never in her life felt more loved than when he looked in her eyes.

Even in stepping down, he is serving us.

And now he feels that he is no longer capable of giving the Church what she needs. I have a hard time believing that any man alive would be better at this work than he, but I trust him. I’m stunned by his humility in acknowledging his limitations, most particularly by his entreaty: “I ask pardon for all my defects.” That such a man would forgo weeks of interviews and accolades from his adoring faithful and instead speak quietly to the Cardinals, proclaiming his weakness and begging their forgiveness–this is the reason the world stands shocked. Not because he resigned, but because even his resignation is not about him. Sr. Mary Theresa of the Dominican Sisters of Mary, Mother of the Eucharist put it beautifully: “Pope John Paul II remained in office so that he might show us how to suffer and how to die. Pope Benedict XVI is leaving the Papal Office so that he might show us how to live in humble honesty.”

The Holy Father’s resignation is a great loss to our Church. But it is also a great gift–a gift of humility, of prayer, of discernment. In stepping down, our beloved Pope continues to teach us to live in the Father’s will. I’m glad he’s teaching that lesson. I’m glad he’s living such humility. But most of all, I’m glad he will have some years of peace at the end of his life. The gates of hell will never overcome the Church of Christ; may God bless us with another saint as Vicar.

Aggie Catholics has a great piece on why this is a good thing. Fr. James Martin tells us what this teaches us about discernment. Ti m O’Malley explains how this lesson in seflessness should change us all. Jimmy Akin‘s first thoughts help clarify the situation. And my dear friend Christina Grace is just mourning the loss.

My Favorite Place

One question I get a lot these days (almost as much as “Do you really live out of your car?“) is “What’s your favorite place you’ve spoken?”

Well, friends, that was a tough question. Let me give you a quick run-down of my life over the past 8 months:

Started in Kansas
Stopped over with friends in Indiana
Spent the night with a family in Pennsylvania
Babysat for my sister in Virginia, spoke at the diocesan work camp
Overnight in PA
South Bend for a wedding and some time with friends
Back to Virginia to MC a junior high work camp
A girls’ retreat in Georgia, then a youth leader retreat
An overnight in Ohio
First vows with the Sisters I entered with in Michigan¹
A few more days in Pennsylvania
Visited friends in New York City and Western New York
Back to Indiana for a while
Breakfast with one of my kids in Indiana, lunch with another in Illinois
Time with friends in Wisconsin, Iowa, Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, Louisiana
Got stuck in Alabama–glad I was there
Ave Maria, Florida, to speak to a few Bible studies, a youth group, and a gathering of would-be apologists
Left Alabama in the morning, not knowing where I’d stay. Ended up with a friend’s sister’s husband
Taught classes at my old school in Kansas, spoke at Benedictine College
Theology on Tap in Omaha
Retreat with the University of Evansville in Indiana
Back to Virginia for some babysitting and a little volunteering
Down to Georgia for a chastity retreat in Winder, a youth group meeting in Athens, and a lecture on the Reformation at Georgia Tech²
Hightailed it up to Virginia, getting there right before the twins were born. Spoke to a junior high group
Ran to Delaware right quick to talk to young professionals on the New Evangelization
Back to Virginia to babysit, with a quick hiatus for a lock-in in Maryland and a talk on the Mass at Old Dominion University
Christmas!
Hawaii, where I spoke after three Masses, to two youth groups, two women’s groups, two informal gatherings of moms, three volunteer sessions, and a group of adults who gave up a whole Saturday for my Apologetics Boot Camp
Back to Georgia for a Theology of the Body talk at Georgia Tech (videos to follow) and at a high school youth group (and at Georgia College and State University tonight)

With a list like that, with that many cities and venues and homes, it’s no wonder I had a hard time deciding what I’d liked the best!

Well, no more. Hands down, Hawaii.

Hawaii Beach — This is what I did with my Tuesday afternoon. NBD.

Of course, there’s the weather. Leaving cold, gray Virginia for sunny Hawaii was definitely a perk. And you can’t beat a warm beach in January. And then there’s the landscape–it’s like God had finished creating the world and he decided to make one more spot, just in case the Alps and the Adriatic coast and Australia’s coral reefs and Angel Falls³ weren’t enough to convince us he loved us. Just to be sure, he made one more string of islands and shoved as many ecosystems as he could right up together to show his creative genius, to shout his love. Gorgeous beaches run up against prehistoric forests⁴ with jagged mountains wreathed in clouds just a stone’s throw away. It’s unreal.

That thing I’m doping with my hand is called a shaka. Around my neck is a fuzzy lei.⁵ On my head is a homemade lei that I think was also supposed to go around my neck but it was made by children who underestimated the enormity of my head, so I wore it like a crown. For the entire talk. Because I’m that dedicated.

But so much more than the island itself, it was the people I worked with at St. Damien’s. The ladies who opened their hearts so quickly, who are my friends now. The children who fell asleep in my lap. The families who picked me up early in the morning, drove me around, fed me, and then gave me donations on top of all that. The women who showed up over and over again–even twice a day–hungry for God’s word and eager to make me feel welcome. The lady who spoke to me on the phone after I left, telling me honestly how she’s hurting and listening when I tried to show her how the Lord wants to heal her. The man who told me the boot camp left him more confused about his faith than ever–stunning me until his wife told me he was a Baptist. And of course there was the wonderful woman who arranged my trip, picked me up from the airport, housed me, fed me, planned my week, sat up nights talking with me, and even made sure that everyone who picked me up was planning on feeding me. All of these beautiful military families–they cooked and drove and listened and prayed and spread the word and took notes. I was treated like a princess–and humbled, humbled, humbled by their openness and love.

I think this is the same kind of card they give to their own members when they leave for a new assignment.

I have never felt more welcome anywhere in my entire life. After just a few days, that community became home, and by the time I left, my new friends were hatching a plan to put my picture on a bucket and carry it around asking for donations so I could come back. And you know what? Whether I go back to Hawaii or not, I’ll see those women again. In Colorado or Alabama or Alaska⁶ or wherever. I spoke to the women’s groups about how desperately God loves them–and these ladies reminded me how true it is by making me one of them.

And then, as if meals and beaches and conversations and a paycheck and cards and gifts and friendship weren’t enough, they recorded most of my sessions on Friday–and then gave me the video camera! That’s right, gone are the days of cell phone videos. I am officially the owner of a Sony Bloggie Waterproof camera for all my deep sea speaking needs! I’m linking to the videos below so those of you who didn’t get to attend⁷ can live vicariously. Or so you can take these videos to your pastor/DRE/whoever and get me to your parish!

The first talk defended the existence of God and the divinity of Christ:

After discussing what unites Christians, I explained what divides us:

Later, we hit the Eucharist and confession:

And ended the day with some intense morality issues:

Obviously, these videos don’t cover all 6 hours of the boot camp, but they should give you a pretty good taste. Plus, my friends in Hawaii are so awesome, they had a professional television editor come in to tape the whole day. I have no idea what the final product is going to look like, but I know it won’t happen for a few months. Be sure I’ll let you know when it does!

So no brilliant point today, just joy in the generosity of the people of God and some videos to keep you busy. Because these ladies taught me that even when I feel like all I have to give is pathetic, God is doing great things for his glory.

My new medal of St. Damien–given to me by St. Damien’s Church in Hawaii–on my keys so I remember the blessing of that week.

********

If you haven’t been over to Bonnie’s yet to vote for your favorite Catholic blogs, please do! Voting ends today at 6pm Central, but I think she’s tallying the votes manually, so please don’t vote more than once. Do vote for me and for my sister if you read her–which you should. She’s “A Blog for My Mom” and she’s funny and her kids are amazing and probably way harder to deal with than whatever is exhausting you these days, so at least take a look when you feel overwhelmed and remember that whatever else is going on, you (probably) don’t have 4 kids under 4!⁸

This confuses people. I did not profess vows. I just went to celebrate with them as they did. [↩]
Georgia Tech is definitely high in the standings for favorite place. [↩]
That alliteration was totally accidental! [↩]
I may just think they look prehistoric because they remind me of Land of the Lost. [↩]
Which I’m giving to my niece. She’s going to die of excitement. [↩]
In the summer, please! [↩]
You poor mainlanders, you. [↩]
Not that we’re comparing, it’s just sometimes a relief to think that other people have it rough, too. And to think how much rougher it could be. But not to downplay our suffering in the face of someone else’s crazy life. Oh, whatever. You read my post the other day. You don’t need me to explain that I don’t think my sister is better than you. Even if I kind of do. [↩]

“Do you really live out of your car?”

I remember a conversation with an eighth-grade girl just after I left the convent. I explained to her that I expected to be consecrated–that I would never be married–and that I was living rather a simple life. No car, no cell phone, that sort of thing.¹ When I have conversations like this, I generally expect people to get hung up on the whole celibacy thing. But not this girl:

“You don’t have a cell phone? Like, really? No cell phone at all? I couldn’t live without my cell phone!”

I tried to draw her attention back to consecrated life, but to her the lack of cell phone was dramatically more significant than the lack of husband.

It’s been much the same in recent months. When I meet people and discuss my vocation (God willing) or my ministry, they’re interested. But then they ask where I live and all hell breaks loose.

“Right now, I’m living out of my car.”

Jaws drop, eyes bug out, and any number of questions follow:

“But really, where do you live?”
“Where’s all your stuff?”
“You sleep in your car?”
“Where do you shower?”
“Do you really live out of your car or is that some kind of speaking gimmick?”
“How did you learn to read if you don’t have a home?” (Okay, that was from a five-year-old.)

Again, I would have thought that being celibate or willingly unemployed would draw more attention. But these questions keep coming up, so I thought I’d take a minute to explain.²

Packed trunk — Check it out: all my worldly possessions.

When I left Kansas in May, I felt as though I was being led to pack everything into the trunk of my car and give away whatever didn’t fit. (There wasn’t much–I haven’t owned a stick of furniture for three and a half years now.) At that point, I had three things planned for the rest of my life: babysitting, a wedding, and speaking at a retreat. There’s something very freeing about having a schedule that wide open.

My expectation was that I’d visit friends for a month or two and then settle down someplace in August. I wasn’t anticipating having anything much in the way of income, so I figured that God would just give me a place to live. He does tend to provide for me in rather surprising ways, so I figured that someone would ask me if I wanted to house-sit for a year. You know, pay me to live in their house. Something like that.

I was planning to settle down, though. See, I’m crazy extraverted. I mean, after working for an hour, I used to leave my classroom and wander the halls till I found someone to talk to. Ten minutes of small talk later, I was ready for another hour’s work. I’m so energized by socializing that living in other people’s space is something I often enjoy.

But I have this terrible disorder called FOMO–fear of missing out.³ So when there is fun to be had, you’d better believe that I’m out there having it. I survived my senior year of college on four hours of sleep a night rather than miss out on any of the 4am fun. Seriously, it’s a problem.

My FOMO means that when people are around, I’m not so good at taking time for anything other than socializing. Oh, I’ll get my prayer time–that’s non-negotiable. But there’s only so much work I can get done when there’s somebody around to chat with. So I figured if I’m going to write this book,⁴ I’ll need my own space. I’ll set a schedule, I thought, with all kinds of time for reading and prayer and naps and writing.

And so, having been called out of my well-planned life into this bizarre new endeavor of trust, I began to plan my horarium. And once again, God laughed.

I left Kansas and started my new nomad life. I stayed with my sister and my old roommate and the little girls I’ve helped raise and my best friend from high school. And it was really good.

Being a nomad felt right for the time being, so I pushed back the date I expected to settle. Instead of August, I’d travel till October. Then October approached, and I began to think I could do this until January. Now I’m not so sure that I’ll settle down at all in the next year–or even longer.

Throughout this whole thing, the Gospel passage that I’ve been given has been, “Take only a walking stick.” I like plans and stability and safety nets, but God prefers that I trust.

St. Clare gear shift — Beneath the image (wedged above my gear shift) are the words “Saint Clare, bless our house.”

When I’m homeless like this, I join with the disciples who went out, not knowing what welcome they would get. I learn to trust that God will take care of me, sometimes in dramatic ways. I learn to trust that friends and family and even strangers will open their homes to me. I learn to trust that I’m not a burden. I learn to trust that God will give me direction as to where to go next, that he’ll give me work to do and money for gas, that I’ll have time to blog, that my car won’t break down unless I’m taken care of.

It’s strange and it’s totally unlike me—and yet it fits me so well. I’m a missionary, an itinerant evangelist, a nomad for Christ, a crazy girl living rest stop to rest stop.

So for those of you who want the nitty gritty, here’s what it means that I “live out of my car”:

I don’t sleep in my car. Well, occasionally I take a half hour nap, but only during daylight and only in crowded parking lots where nobody would try anything. There’s trusting God and then there’s blatant imprudence–I’m not doing anything dangerous.

Everything I own is in the trunk of my car. Okay, my mattress pad and my comforter are at my sister’s house. But everything else: the dress I wear to weddings, my high school diploma, my bottle of Jordan River holy water, my Code of Canon Law–everything. This is very convenient, but it does get a little crowded. Fortunately, I have little enough stuff that I can literally fit everything into the car and have room for 3 passengers besides me.

I mostly stay with friends. I occasionally stay with friends-of-friends. So far, 25 different families have opened their homes to me. I haven’t yet stayed with strangers, but I’m sure it’ll happen. Don’t worry, it’ll be a host family arranged through a parish I’m speaking at or someone who reads my blog or the nice people I met on the plane to New Orleans. I’ll be safe.

I don’t have a permanent address. I have stuff sent to my sister’s place or to my previous address to be forwarded. But sometimes it’s time-sensitive and misses me and has to be forwarded around the country. That’s always funny.

Snacks — My passenger seat is reserved for snacks.

I’ve been to (or through) 28 states in the past 4 months. And I’ve put 12,000 miles on my car. I listen to young adult fiction to stay awake (princess books!) and eat a lot of dried fruit and nuts. I try not to eat much fast food. I don’t really get bored if I’ve got books to listen to, plus I do my rosary and chaplet and meditation in the car if I’ve got a big chunk of driving to do. I’m pretty comfortable driving up to 12 hours in one shot; anything shorter than 6 is a breeze. If I get too tired, I call someone; talking on the phone re-energizes me (see above).

I guess home base is my sister’s place. I’m there more often than I’m anywhere else (three weeks over the past four and a half months, I think), and I’ll be there even more come the end of November when she adds TWINS to her already busy two-toddler house. It looks like I’m taking December off to help out, so for a month or two I’ll have a little more stability. I’ll still be living out of a suitcase, though–don’t think I’m selling out.

I’m not worried about money. People think it’s awfully irresponsible of me to quit my job and then turn down job offers. What kind of person is intentionally unemployed? But there’s nothing to worry about when you’re in God’s will. I’m trusting in God’s providence, people’s generosity, and a savings account to fall back on.

I’m not yet speaking enough to warrant being homeless. I don’t have events in every state I stop in, but maybe eventually I will. I find that there’s plenty of ministry going on even when I don’t have anything scheduled, and I’m trying to make it more intentional. I want to get a shirt that says “I’m a Catholic. Ask me a question.”⁵ Then I’ll wear it when I’m in public places with time to kill and voila! Instant evangelization. If anybody knows someplace awesome to get a shirt made (or wants to make it themselves), let me know.

Camera 360 — My front bumper is basically an entomologist’s dream come true.

I only ever have a vague plan. I usually know where I’m going for the next few weeks. Then there’s some fuzzy space to be filled in before my next event. For example, I know that I’ll be driving from DC to Georgia in early November. I have one scheduled stop, but once October rolls to a close, I’ll probably have added a few other visits. Other than that, all I’ve got on the docket is Georgia in January, DC in March, and Kansas after that. I’m sure God will fill in the hazy in-between weeks.

I’m open to whatever! In September, I drove from Iowa to Texas just for a fried avocado and some football with friends–don’t think I won’t come to you. If you’ve got a youth group or RCIA or confirmation class or Bible study that you want me to come speak at, I’d love to! You don’t even really have to pay me if you can’t. Or maybe you just want me to come hang out at your house and be your new best friend or talk to your teenage daughter or homeschool your kids. I just never know what God’s going to set before me. All I know is that he’s asked me to speak—street corners or stadiums, it’s all the same to me.

Maybe I’ll spend the rest of my life as a nomad and maybe I’ll have a home next week. Maybe I’ll never be gainfully employed again and maybe I’ll settle back into a classroom in January. I’ve learned to stop making plans–well, beyond the next few weeks–and consent to follow.

As I was driving away from my most recent home back in May, I noticed a strange optical illusion that I’d never noticed before. The hot asphalt ahead of me shimmered in the sunlight and seemed to disappear. I couldn’t tell exactly where the road was; I just had to trust that it was there ahead of me. I couldn’t see exactly where it was going until I was right on top of it; but while I didn’t know what twists and turns it would take, I knew the ultimate destination.

I’m sure I’ve seen this a hundred times before, but I never once noticed it until that day, the day that I was setting out on a road I didn’t know, not knowing where it would go or how it would get there, but trusting that it would lead me to my ultimate Destination. Jesus and I had quite the little chat over that one, let me tell you!

So I mostly eat granola bars and dried fruit and crackers, I listen to a ton of audiobooks, and I’m more grateful for cruise control than I ever thought I could be. And all for the kingdom–isn’t God funny?

P.S. I’ll be speaking at the Omaha Theology on Tap this evening at 7:30. If you’re in the area, be sure to come by!

How different from today, where all I really have are a car and a cell phone! [↩]
Maybe I’ll get a QR code that links to this post. Then when people ask me, I can show them the code and stand there checking facebook while they read it. It would certainly be more efficient…. [↩]
Katherine, Chenele, Hannah, I’m looking at you. [↩]
Did you know I’m going to write a book? On apologetics–think every apologetics post I’ve ever written but in some systematic order. It’s going to be awesome. No, I haven’t written a single page. [↩]
Props to the St. Lawrence Center at KU for the inspiration [↩]