A Christmas Letter

Piazza del Popolo on my last night in Roma.

My dear readers, 

The last Advent candle will soon be lit, and it is time to reflect on yet another year come and gone. My constant refrain this year was, “Life is coming at me at 100 mph,” and it certainly did. Friends lost and gained, weddings, births, baptisms, an unexpected funeral, writing, a semester spent in the Eternal City, prepping for a new job next semester—whew. This year was full of challenges that required me to either grow up or give up—and especially to grow stronger. Three points stick out in my memory as I look back over these experiences:

1) Anything worth doing requires commitment and sacrifice. This seemingly-obvious truth was sometimes hard to handle in the hectic end of sophomore year, and in Rome with a constantly changing schedule. Whether as simple as having a cup of tea with a friend, or as serious as keeping a friendship alive—if it’s worth doing, it involves the selfless gift of time and attention. It can be difficult to really strive for those things that require commitment and the sacrifice of my time, instead of backing out and quietly declining the invitations of grace.  Figuring out how to do that leads me to...

2) The Ordo Amoris. St. Augustine once wrote that that in every man’s life there is an order of loves, a hierarchy, from simple pleasures like sweets to the highest love of God. When this order is out of order, there are serious problems in a man’s life. If everything is in its proper place and God is placed first, then there is peace—“the tranquility of order.”

 

The tomb of St. Lawrence, my patron.

Conflicts between "things worth doing" made it a struggle this year to balance this order; and it taught me to give up some things. When your friends dash out into the pouring rain saying, “We’re going to St. Paul-Outside-The-Walls! Might be our last chance to see this incredible basilica! Wanna come?” and you must finish a paper, spend time with a friend who isn’t feeling well, reply to business emails, take some sorely-needed quiet prayer time, or actually make dinner instead of grabbing food on the run—what do you do?

Even though I failed many times to put the proper order of love in my life, even in petty and pointless ways, He gave me so many chances to try again, and showered me with incredible blessings--blessings that leave me speechless before His mercy. 

Reflecting on these moments of grace, however, I suddenly see how quickly it has all happened. I am now nearly done with college, but it feels like freshman orientation was yesterday. It makes me realize that time is running out—which brings me to my final thought. 

3)   #YOLO.  I’m no longer the 18-year-old freshman with four years ahead of me; soon I will turn 21, and graduation looms ever nearer, with all the important changes it entails. I have little time left in this year, little time left in college. And I want to spend it well. I don’t want to waste it.

The baptism of my goddaughter.

This summer, I wrote about #YOLO—the Twitter phrase used to justify stupid behavior—and about how, really, saying “You Only Live Once” should be a serious spur to make me live my best today. As the year comes to a close, especially in the wake of the heart-wrenching tragedy in Newtown, CT, I am reminded of this yet again.

Sometimes I think we give God excuses for not being our best, for hesitating to live life to the fullest. We say that we’re too busy, or we’re not sure what He wants us to do yet, what our calling is; it is supremely important to discern God’s ultimate plan for us, but we cannot forget that His more immediate will is for us to love those around us right now. I shouldn’t wait for my vocation in life as the time when I’ll really put commitment and sacrifice into how I live, and put the proper ordo amoris in my heart; when I’ll really start to love Him and love others for His sake. I need to start now.   

A year ago, I was eagerly looking forward to God’s plans for me, but not sure yet what they were. While in some ways that is still true, I think I know a little more now where I need to be. The experiences of the past year have taught me, above all, how serious and how real is the spiritual warfare in which we are warriors; there is a battle to fight, a battle for genuine love, a battle that begins in my heart and with how I choose to live. And by that choice, by the joy I must proclaim in Christ as Our Savior, I need to witness to the world. I have to proclaim the truth by a life lived for Him, proclaim how great is His love and how deep my debt to His goodness.

No excuses. No wasted opportunities.  #YOLO.

Here ends another day,

during which I have had eyes, ears, hands,

and the great world around me.
Tomorrow begins another day.

Why am I allowed two?
-- G.K. Chesterton

All the best and a blessed, very Merry Christmas to all of you! I will keep you in my prayers—please keep me in yours!

God bless!

~Lauren  

Roman Reflections

--originally published at God's Spies

By the grace of God, I just returned from three blessed months studying in Rome, Italy. It was an incredible experience, to say the least, and no doubt a single post could never encapsulate how amazing and life-changing this special semester was for me.  I walked through St. Peter's Square everyday to go to class. I attended Mass at St. Peter's Basilica multiple times; I saw the ins and outs of every major church, many minor churches, and the cramped, vendor-filled streets in Rome, got a taste of European culture, and made some incredible memories with my friends. (It wasn't all fun and games by any means. We had a rigorous academic schedule to challenge us while we were there that sometimes felt a bit overwhelming, but ultimately made our European experience that much more amazing). 

What made it so special, though, was not that we were traveling about Italy and enjoying ourselves. Not at all. What made it special was that we were there with a purpose; and that made it a pilgrimage. Our first week was spent on pilgrimage together in Assisi and Siena, and our chaplain encouraged us to keep the spirit of pilgrims the whole semester, in our studies and in all the sightseeing and new experiences.

 It was a stirring challenge, directed not only to our time in Italy but to our attitude towards our whole lives on earth.  How does one be a pilgrim in a three-month long "semester" without a definite final destination? What makes it a pilgrimage? Christians often speak of this life as a pilgrimage, as our journey towards heaven. But often it can feel like we're not "going" anywhere, but simply "living" day to day. What makes it a journey, if we're simply gong about our daily business of working, praying, studying, buying groceries, riding the subway? How are we pilgrims?

Hilaire Belloc once wrote eloquently of the meaning and purpose of a pilgrimage. He said: "A man that goes on a pilgrimage does best of all if he starts out  . . . with the heart of a wanderer, eager for the world as it is, forgetful of maps or descriptions, but hungry for real colours and men and the seeming of things. This desire for reality and contact is a kind of humility, this pleasure in it a kind of charity."

 Being on a pilgrimage, as Belloc explains, means moving toward your goal with eyes open to the path around you. And when a pilgrimage is a search for God, then that search that encompasses your vision of life and your attitude toward all you encounter: you seek for God everywhere and always.  That first week in Assisi, I came across a quote that helped me understand how the vision of a pilgrim could direct both my time in Rome and my time on earth; a quote from the earliest biographer of St. Francis, who wrote:  "In beautiful things, Francis saw Beauty Itself."

In the beautiful things around us, we should see a glimpse of the beauty of God. That vision which seeks and sees God in all around us coincides exactly with Belloc's notion of a pilgrim--who knows how to take joy in the journey by seeking his final end in all that he encounters along the way.   In every place we went this semester, we were seeking God, seeking to find him wherever we were; not only in every glorious church we entered (and there were many), but in every train station and crowded street, in the classroom and at the little Italian cafes. From the Baroque, golden glory of St. Peter's Basilica, to the sweet simplicity of St. Francis' hermitage chapel, we sought Him . . . and found Him, because we went with eyes and hearts open to His presence.

St. Peter's Basilica, the Vatican

Thou has said, "Seek ye my face." 

My heart says to thee, 

"Thy face, LORD, do I seek."

--Psalm 27:8  

The chapel at the mountain hermitage of St. Francis in Assisi

Building Up

Recently I came across a Facebook meme that gave me pause:

  

It makes a shocking point. Yes, dressing immodestly is going to attract exactly the wrong kind of attention. And yes, “real” men don’t like it when women dress immodestly. But if we were speaking to one of our sisters in Christ about modesty, as one woman to another, the shock approach usually is  not the best one to take.

Most girls I know accept the basic principles of modesty, and strive to achieve them in their own way. But if a woman needs a reminder to live up to these standards, and perhaps—as is usually the case—isn’t quite aware she’s falling short, would this striking, frontal-assault method really encourage her to change? Wouldn’t the back-handed accusation be more likely to put her off?  

The rare case may arise, of course, when saying something so “in-your-face” and direct may be exactly what is needed to awaken a woman’s self-respect; yet, I firmly believe that when it comes to the modesty discussion among women, the overriding principle which guides our words and actions towards each other in this matter must be CHARITY. It can be all too easy to look down our noses at a woman who is wearing less coverage than we would ourselves, instead of seeing her as a daughter of God who needs to know how truly beautiful and sacred she is. When it comes to changing hearts, encouraging individual girls to respect themselves and their bodies and keep choosing the modest outfit even when another option seems more appealing, we women need to build each other up—not tear each other down.

The technical line between “modest” and “immodest” can be a matter of inches, and when this is the case, some can be discouraged in their efforts if they must forgo a pretty outfit when it is beyond the limit. I think of Maria in West Side Story, begging to be allowed a dress with a lower neckline because she thinks it will be prettier that way: “Just one inch!” she pleads, “What harm can one little inch do?” In the day-in, day-out struggle to find clothes that are modest without being frumpy or uncomfortable, the back-and-forth working out of mere technical details can make us lose sight of the proper perspective on why we have rules about dressing the way we do. And that reminder is where charity comes into play; it is our role as women to encourage each other in our pursuit of modesty, to help other women understand and recollect why modesty is so important, and why it’s worth the extra time and possible frustration. 

Speak to each other about how modesty accentuates and reveals our true beauty. Modesty shouldn’t be reduced to a mere matter of rules and inches, of where the line falls; we must remember that it is really a matter of attitude, of how we treat ourselves—which should be with respect, as temples of the Holy Spirit, designed by God to be uniquely beautiful. It can be easy to forget that modesty is not a necessary pain-in-the-neck, but rather a way of revealing our true beauty by taking extra trouble to respect the sanctity of our sexuality.

Encourage one other in charity. If you encounter a woman dressed modestly, praise her. Let her know she’s beautiful for wearing something that respects her true beauty while complementing her femininity. Who knows—she may have struggled that day to find an outfit that “works.” (We all have been there.) And if an immodestly-attired young lady overhears your praise, perhaps she’ll be influenced to dress with more modesty another day.

And above all, preach by example. Choose your outfits with deliberate respect for the glorious beauty of God’s handiwork in the human body, and do so joyfully, consistently, and without complaint. That sort of example often does more than a whole treatise on the do’s-and-don’ts of modest attire could.

So, this summer, strive to build up your sisters-in-Christ when it comes to dressing modestly in the heat. By your words and actions, help them see through charity and example that modesty is a goal because it is truly beautiful—not just because it’s morally mandatory. 

Beat the Heat: A Few Modesty Tips

Summer heat is probably one of the biggest enemies of modest attire  As the thermometer rises into the 90's (and 100's for some of us!) it can be frustratingly difficult to find an outfit that is both modest and supplies sufficient coverage without leaving us wilting in the heat waves and humidity.

So, in keeping with Grace's lovely "Modest Monday" series, I thought I would share this quick list of summer tips from my friend Rachel's blog. As she writes:

I find it absolutely hysterical some of the things editors and columnists try to get women to believe will make them happier - particularly when it comes to summer wear. Contrary to popular opinion, bikinis are not the only options for swimwear . . . and showing more skin in the summer will not actually help you stay cooler. 

Even those who have heard some of these suggestions before will probably benefit from a quick review at the start of this summer when it's getting hotter everyday and many of us will be living pretty active lives and doing a few more outdoors activities than usual. I hope y'all enjoy this list, and h/t to Rachel for compiling it.

God bless!

Oh no, here it comes: "Relationship Advice!"

I attend a small college, where everyone knows everyone else and dating is taken very seriously; which means that to start dating someone usually causes at least a few ripples in the pool of community life. So whenever a new couple forms, I notice a slew of advice starts to swirl around them from all quarters. Everyone wants to help them by offering tips, counsel, and warnings along with their congratulations.  

From a supportive and helpful community, offering advice can be very good, especially if it is coming from people you know, respect, and trust. Yet, what is a little peculiar about it is that so much of the advice seems to conflict. This wasn’t a question of “worldly view of relationships” v. “Catholic view of relationships,” but pious, prudent people offering at times seemingly contradictory views on the same question. Some of those issues have already been debated on this blog: how to define dating, when to date, when to call it “courtship,” things to avoid while dating, things to do when dating, etc.

Here's a few examples:

“I think one should date dozens of people. There are tons of important things about someone you can’t learn about them unless you enter that ‘official’ relationship stage.”

“I think I would wait until I am more certain that a person might be ‘the one,’ before I ever would consider dating them.”

“You should never start courting someone until you’re positive they’re the one for you. Until then, you should just get to know them in a group setting.”

“One shouldn’t date until after highschool, but then it’s fine.”

“Never date during the first year or two of college.”

“I don’t think it’s prudent to seriously date until after college years.”

Somehow, the subject of relationships especially seemed to resurface as a perpetual tangent in my theology classes of last year.  I think it was one of my professor’s favorite topics, and throughout the year he liberally dropped tidbits of “relationship advice” here and there like largesse, scattered amidst our Scripture studies, from Genesis to Revelation.  There was quite a bit of it, but one line stuck out to me in particular. “You should never get engaged to anyone,” he said, “Until you’ve had at least one knock-down, drag-out fight with them.” His idea was that you could never know if you could bear to be yoked for life to another person in marriage until you found out if you were able work out arguments together, square differences of opinion, and manage quarrels and reconciliations well together.

Yet, on the same campus, I heard a talk on relationships given by a happy, Catholic married couple who said, upon being asked, that to be honest, they had to admit that they had never once had a serious quarrel. And they had been married for years. 

All this is extremely confusing, but it’s typical of “relationship advice” in the Catholic world. Everyone has a different opinion, and it’s not exactly a matter of dogma that can be clarified by looking in the index of the Catechism. So, by far, I think the absolute best piece of “relationship advice” I ever heard was from one professor who, hearing how some pieces of counsel from different well-respected people seemed to conflict, said simply:

“You have to understand that everyone’s dating advice is anecdotal. It’s based on their relationship experience. So-and-so had a rough relationship in early college years that didn’t turn out right; so he thinks you shouldn’t date in early college years. The other guy dated dozens of women and eventually found the right one; so he’s an advocate of dating a lot to find the right spouse. One fellow started dating freshman year and married her and has lived happily ever since, so he thinks that’s the way to go. All you can do is take everything with a grain of salt, and just try to act prudently. And pray a lot.”

I think his words can be helpful for Catholic young adults who are trying to live, faithful, holy lives, and may feel called to discern a vocation to marriage but are having difficulty balancing all the advice that comes from Catholic circles about how to date, and when, and who.  In the end, the individual is called to use common sense, prudence, patience, and prayer when it comes to discerning relationships and possible vocations to marriage. While there are some obvious rules of thumb to follow that almost everyone will recognize—like not dating someone you barely know, being careful to preserve one’s chastity, and giving due weight to the opinions of those you respect and love—when it comes to relationships, it ultimately depends on each person to prayerfully discern God’s call.

Discerning Hearts

"Beloved, do not believe every spirit, 

but test the spirits to see whether they are of God."

-1 John 4:1

For all Catholic young women—or, more accurately, for all Catholics—discernment is an important part of our lives.  The ability to distinguish, discriminate, and decide well and wisely is generally inseparable from a solid foundation in the spiritual life and a deep life of prayer committed to trusting in God.

And God knows it’s hard. To our unending (earthly) frustration, there is often no simple way to find answers for all our problems and questions—but it is absolutely vital, in the strongest sense of the word, that we discern well what God’s will is for us. And essential to this goal is being able to discern well in our own spiritual lives, in our personal relationship with God. Spiritual dryness, moments of peace, the need for solitude, fervor or anxiety or struggles with habitual sins—how are we to know what to do in each of these situations? How do we discriminate between fleeting emotions and sincere convictions?  If we cannot find peace in our prayer, what are we to do?

In 1 Corinthians 12:10, Paul lists the discernment of spirits among the various gifts of members of the Body of Christ.  Recently, on my own search for spiritual guidance in discerning, I came across someone who possesses this gift and is using it for God's glory. Fr. Thomas Gallagher has given a beautiful series of talks (and an EWTN series) based on his book The Discernment of Spirits: Setting Captives Free.  The talks can be listened to for free here at “Discerning Hearts” website.  The talks provide a comprehensive foundation for understanding the patterns of spiritual fruitfulness and dryness in one’s relationship with God.  The subtitle of the book is uniquely appropriate, because the confusion and frustration produced by difficulty in discerning is indeed like a sort of captivity, and the explanation and advice Fr. Gallagher gives—based strictly and clearly on St. Ignatius’ rules—liberates because of the clarity they provide on problems of spiritual consolation and desolation, on what causes them and how to respond to them.  

If you have some extra time this Christmas break, I strongly recommend listening to at least the first 4 or 5 talks! I have found them very helpful, and I hope you will, too. 

In Christ,

Lauren

Yuletide Reflections

My dear readers,

The close of the year and the quiet pause afforded by Christmas break fittingly cause me to reflect on what has passed since I last posted here. Much as I had anticipated, once I left home in the heat of late summer and returned to Christendom College, my days were so full that I barely had time to catch my breath, let alone write anything.  Just as I felt I was getting used to my hectic schedule and finally getting a handle on all of my various and sundry goals and responsibilities, it was half-way through December and I was packing up to go home.

On the one hand, the time I spent immersed in the world of classes, work, choir, and friends at college went very fast—so much faster than freshman year.  “What,” I cried in early September, “It’s time for the Italian Night dance already? I thought the semester just started!” And the rest of the semester passed in much the same way. Midterms? Halloween? Winter Formal Dance? Finals? Glory be, didn’t we just get here?

Yet, when I measure my days by all that happened between one milestone and the next, I realize how much time really has passed. My life has been full—full of beautiful things, of tough decisions, of new experiences and lessons learned.

There are a thousand things I could take away from this semester and relate here to share with all of you, but if I should choose just one thing, I think it would be this: that during this semester, the new and unexpected spectrum of experiences I have gone through have made me approach truths I’ve always known with a new perspective.

One little incident comes to mind as illustrative of this lesson. During a class on the Song of Songs, my theology professor was explaining some of the deep images in that unique canticle.  “In this passage,” he said, “the Beloved is gazing into the eyes of her Lover and sees her image reflected there as in a mirror.”  From the back of the classroom, a student piped up quizzically that such imagery did not strike her as very moving or even romantic.  There was a little silence, and then my theology professor replied quietly, with a twinkle in his eye: “Try it sometime. Then we’ll see if you think differently." 

This semester has brought me trials and challenges I knew about and understood in a peripheral fashion, but can comprehend in a different and more profound way once I have passed through them myself.  It is one thing to write about how perfectionism is a fault; it’s another thing to fight a losing battle against it through papers, midterms, class readings, and finals and come out on the other side realizing my limitations.  It is one thing to write about how to be open to God’s plan for one’s life; it is another thing entirely to figure out how to be open to it in my own life.  It is an amazing thing to learn and discover (through an absolutely incredible philosophy class on Ethics) about what true friendship is; discerning how to put that truth into practice in the daily reality of living with one’s friends is another struggle altogether.  It’s humbling—and wonderful—to discover what it is like to try and really live what I believe.  

At the end of the semester, I have to admit that facing all these new challenges and experiences has made me realize, once again, the unfathomable debt of gratitude I owe to my Beloved. Everything he has placed in my path, while it may seem at the time like a stumbling block, is in fact a stepping stone to Him.  He has not chosen to show me yet where precisely where my life is going, and by that He is teaching me trust Him and not be afraid of the path ahead of me:  

For I know the plans I have for you, says the LORD, 
plans for welfare and not for evil, 
to give you a future and a hope.

Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me,and I will hear you.

You will seek me and find me; 
when you seek me with all your heart.

-Jeremiah 29:11-13

I wish you all a blessed and Merry Christmas! May the joy and peace of the Christ Child fill all your days! Please pray for me, and I will keep all of you in my prayers!

God bless!

Lauren 

This Divine Solitude

With the advent of August, many of us will be returning to school or other busy activities that follow the end of the summer and the coming of fall. Our daily schedules can be hectic and our lives very full of commitments and plans that require a lot of our time and attention. In the midst of all this, it can be very difficult to keep a healthy balance and remember to reserve a space in our schedule for our Creator and true Spouse.  So, before we find ourselves up to our elbows in the business of classes or work or household labors and realize only at the end of the day the that we’ve given no time or thought to God, here’s a little advice from St. Francis de Sales about what he calls “one of the most certain means to spiritual advancement.”

   

“During the course of the day recall as often as possible . . . that you are in God’s presence. Consider what God does and what you are doing. You will see his eyes turned toward you constantly fixed on you with incomparable love. Then you will say to him: ‘O God, why do I not look always at you, just as you always look at me? Why do you think so often of me, O my Lord, and why do I think so seldom of you?’  . . .

Birds have nests in trees and can retire to them when need arises and stags have brushes and thickets where they take cover, hide, and enjoy the cool shade during the summer. So also our hearts should each day pick and choose some place, either on Mount Calvary or within our Lord’s wounds or in some other place near him, as a retreat where they can retire at various times to refresh and restore themselves during their exterior occupations. There, as in a stronghold, they can defend themselves against temptations. Blessed will be the soul that can truly say to our Lord: ‘You are my place of strength and my stronghold to give me safety, my roof against the rain, my shade against the heat.’

Always remember, then, to retire at various times into the solitude of your own heart even while outwardly engaged in discussions or transactions with others. This mental solitude cannot be violated by the many people who surround you since they are not standing around your heart but only around your body. Your heart remains alone in the presence of God. . . . 

Indeed, our tasks are seldom so important as to keep us from withdrawing our hearts from them from time to time in order to retire into this divine solitude.”

--St. Francis de Sales, “Introduction to the Devout Life”

A Room With a View

--reposted from my blog, God's Spies

When I first arrived at college for Freshman Orientation, I was secretly hoping that I would get “a room with a view.” There is nothing so refreshing, after hours of intense studying, as stopping to stretch and gaze out a window at a pleasing panorama. I knew that if I was lucky enough to land a room on the top floor of the dorm, then I would get a view of the surrounding countryside, of the library in the distance, or maybe even a glimpse of the Shenandoah River. So, I’ll admit I was just a little disappointed when I discovered that not only was I not on the top floor, but my room was actually in the so-called “basement” level. I had a window, of course, but it looked out on the parking lot. However, I soon discovered that this particular room had more to offer than that particular view.

Our room was located just next to the entrance—not just to our level, but to the whole dorm. Because of our unique location, a lot of traffic would pass by our door every day. (This had its downside, too, of course: I remember telling my poor roommate that if one more girl slammed the door on her way out I would scream. Patience isn’t my strongest virtue.) During the normal course of the day, it happened that every girl on the floor and almost every girl in the dorm would pass by on her way to the chapel or class or the library.

In a few weeks, I began to realize that this position next to the exit was an unexpected little grace. My roommate and I liked to leave the door open while we studied, and most days we did our homework in the comfort of our rooms, with our desks positioned so that we could easily turn and extend a cheery hello to the girls going by. They would stop by on their way in or out of the dorm, at all hours, at least to say hi and occasionally to chat. Sometimes the chats would turn into heart-to-heart talks, and before long, the girls who passed most often began to tell me about their homes, their families, their hardships and hopes. At first, when these beautiful young ladies began coming to me with heartaches or stress about schoolwork, I thought they were looking for advice, and often I would rack my brains to try and think of something wise to say, usually ending with the only thing I could think of, which was hardly original or sagacious: “Well, go pray about it, sweetheart, and trust God, and I’m sure it will turn out alright.”

However, pretty soon I understood that these girls weren't looking for advice, and didn’t need me to give any. They were simply looking for someone to talk to. They often knew what they had to do in the challenges they had to face; they just needed a listening ear, a welcoming smile; in other words, a safe harbor where they could tell someone their troubles. I began offering tea to the ones who looked like they were particularly in need of a respite; and over steaming mugs and crackers we’d unwind or open up our books to study together. Others didn't have time for tea, and they would simply drop in for a few minutes and be on their way.

Looking back over the year, I realize that God had given me that room and placed those young women in my life not simply that He might be able to use me as an instrument of His grace in their lives, but so that they could teach me. Through them my view of life could widen beyond my struggles to comprehend their headaches and heartaches, their spiritual or scholastic mountains to climb. They were there to teach me to listen, to open not just the door but the ears to my heart, to truly pay attention when my neighbor needs compassion or encouragement or just a little attention. Through them God gave me the chance to see Christ in my spiritual sisters. That is a lovely view indeed—and I don't have to live on the top floor to see it.

I Know Where I'm Going

---from my blog, God's Spies

"Take a look at my wedding dress,” my friend said as she sent me a picture. I was puzzled. “Um, did I miss something? Are you getting married?” Laughing, she replied, “I meant for someday.” My friend is a planner. She’s got everything worked out for the day she marries, right down to bridesmaid dresses and where she’ll have the reception. All she needs is a groom.

She’s one of many young women I know who love to dream about the love God has in store for them and to plan their future life. Most people, women and men alike, tend to do this to some extent. We think we know where we’ll end up and look forward with eagerness to the future we have in mind. And there’s nothing wrong with dreaming about what God may have planned for us, knowing that in the goodness of His Providence, He will lead us to true happiness if we let Him.

But that’s the catch—if we let Him. This little clause is so fundamentally important that our lives will be drastically altered depending on whether we accept it. There is a difference between dreaming about our future and planning exactly what it will be, and it is crucial not to confuse the two. We may think we know what will make us happy—but, being faulty human beings, we can be quite wrong.

This paradox is beautifully explored in the little-known 1945 British film I Know Where I’m Going, starring Roger Livesey and Wendy Hiller, whom some may recognize from her later role as Thomas More’s wife Alice in A Man For All Seasons (1966). She plays an ambitious working-girl, Joan Webster, who knows precisely what she wants out of life: marriage to a wealthy man and the luxury and security that will bring her. She’s not cold or heartless, but simply determined to get what she wants, and certain that if she gets it, she will be happy.

At first, it seems that Joan’s plans will come true. Engaged to one of the wealthiest industrialists in England, she finds every last detail of the day before the wedding has been carefully scheduled—from her train tickets to her arrival at the little Scottish isle where the wedding will take place. 

Yet, when she is only a short boat ride from the island, her itinerary is literally blown away, in a nasty fog that prevents the crossing. Stranded on the Scottish coastland, she falls in with Torquil MacNeil, a quiet naval officer who assists her in finding lodging with some of his friends. Joan prays that the wind will rise and clear the fog. Her prayers are answered, but not as she intended. By morning a gale is sweeping the coast, and she is landlocked still. Meanwhile, she gets to know the quaint Scottish town, steeped in local color and tradition. The people, while hard-working and living simply, live every day hand-to-mouth, in uncertainty about whether they will have money to live by, or even their next meal. This abandon to Providence is something Joan, with all her carefully-set life plans, finds hard to take. “These people must be poor,” she comments to MacNeil. “Not poor,” he replies, “They just haven’t got money. . . It’s something quite different.” They are content with their impoverished lot, because they don’t demand more than what God gives them at the present moment. The result is patient, trusting happiness.

The place starts to grow on Joan—as MacNeil does. They begin to fall in love, and Joan soon realizes that her ambitions may be ruined. She tries to ignore that God has placed in her path not the rich man of her dreams, but the penniless love of her life. Love has taken her by surprise and threatens to overthrow her special plans and redefine for her success and life itself.

It is tempting to plan exactly what we want from life. Single men and women may dream up requirements for their future spouse, exactly that tall or with this kind of hair or eyes, and with a certain kind of tastes or temperament. Parents have plans for their children. Businessmen have plans for their money. Human beings set all sorts of plans for what they want, what they will do, for how things will be in five or ten years. If they demand what they think is best, they can close their hearts to the grace of God and shut themselves off from the mysterious workings of His Providence. Even in the seemingly-unremarkable path of ordinary life, we have to recognize we cannot know what is around the bend—and cannot always control what it is. It is a question of humility, of knowing we are not God and therefore cannot determine everything in our lives. If we fail to do this, we will remain unfulfilled and suffer anxiety, frustration, unhappiness—and, sometimes, unrequited love.

The greatest blessings of our lives may come as complete surprises. After all, what is a miracle but a sort of reckless and impossible surprise? Illness or health, pain or pleasure, failure or success may all be the steps laid before us on the climb to Him. We must simply trust Him enough to let Him surprise us.

GKC on Women

Dale Ahlquist, the president of the American Chesterton Society, has frequently boasted that G.K. Chesterton said something about everything and said it better than anyone else. Well, that includes women!

“Women are the only realists. 

Their whole object in life is to pit their realism against the extravagant, excessive,

 and occasionally drunken idealism of men.”

“If you convey to a woman that something should be done, 

there is always the dreadful danger that 

she may suddenly do it.”

GKC’s attitude of deep respect and wonder towards women revealed itself in nothing so beautiful as in his love for his own wife, Frances Chesterton. She was the first to lead him to Christ, and by a marvelous turn of providence, in the end he was the one to lead her to the Catholic Faith. Of all his writings, the only work he thought worthy of dedicating to her was The Ballad of the White Horse, and in the dedication to his wife he wrote

                                   Therefore I bring these rhymes to you

                                  Who brought the cross to me,

                                  Since on you flaming without flaw, 

                                  I saw the sign that Guthrum saw

                                 When he let break his ships of awe,

                                 And laid peace on the sea.

                                       . . .                                                     

                                 And I thought, "I will go with you,

                                As man with God has gone,

                                And wander with a wandering star,

                               The wandering heart of things that are,

                               The fiery cross of love and war

                               That like yourself, goes on.

          

Beautiful words, indeed! But I think the most beautiful mingling of literature and love that every came from GK’s pen was the letter in which he proposed to Frances:

There are four lamps of thanksgiving always before me.

The first is my creation out of the same earth as such a woman as you.

The second is that I have not with all my faults gone after strange women.

The third is that I have tried to love everything alive in dim preparation for loving you.

The fourth— No words can express this.

Here ends my previous existence.

Take it.

It led me to you.

         

The Flip-side of Chivalry

--from my blog, God's Spies

(The Shop Around the Corner, 1940) 

All of my brothers were trained from a young age to always follow some basic standards of chivalry: Open the door for people. Give someone else your seat. Let others go first. Naturally, I picked up on these principles, too; to my mind, it was simply a question of good manners. So, when a young gentleman I know offered me his seat at a recent gathering where there weren’t enough chairs to go around, my initial reaction was to thank him but assure him I was quite alright without one, as was perfectly true. But then I realized: how do we expect our boys to be gentlemen if we won’t let them be?

Catholic websites are overflowing with articles—usually by women—about how important it is for men to be chivalrous, and how sadly lacking in chivalry many men are today. (Clare has an excellent archived post about how we often forget that for a man, being a true gentleman entails so much more than simply opening doors for women.) But there’s another side to chivalry—the flip-side. As young women in society, we have a special role in being on the receiving end of chivalry. In a certain sense, in today’s world it is actually up to women whether men act like men.

Our culture is laboring under almost a century of feminist agitprop, and all sorts of strange side-effects are now rising to the surface. A student can get a degree in something called “Women’s Studies,” for instance, but there simply isn’t anything called “Men’s Studies.” Movies for the last 25 years at least have been full of women who can kung-fu kick their male companions to kingdom come, shoot straighter than them, and hold their liquor better. They bossily take charge of situations, immediately deem their male sidekicks immature and incapable, and occasionally swear to punctuate their “toughness.” In other words, they imitate the less admirable qualities of men. This cliché has become so ingrained in society that too often the stereotypes are accepted without question or protest.

It’s exactly this sort of situation that kills chivalry. If chivalry dies, it is our fault—the fault of women, at least in part. It is the fault of women when they usurp what is properly the role of men. When they push themselves to the front, and automatically take charge of all of life’s sundry dilemmas, they can impede the men around them from stepping up to the plate and being truly chivalrous and self-sacrificing.

Now, this requires a fine line of distinction. This does not mean that women shouldn’t have careers or management positions, or that a woman has to let a foolish man take the lead just because he’s a man. But it does mean allowing good men to assume the roles of leadership and of protection that come naturally to them. A man can’t step into his boots if a woman is already wearing them herself. Quite simply, women must allow men to be chivalrous by not getting in the way of their chivalry.

It’s sometimes hard to do this. A young man I know told me that he once let a girl lead him while they were dancing. “It was terrifying,” he said, “I never knew what was going to come next.” He had had a glimpse of the other side of the situation, and realized that women don’t have it easy. Women have to work at their role of receiving chivalry, just as men must work at their role of being chivalrous. If they don’t both fulfill their roles properly, the whole relationship, like a dance, doesn’t work. I’m used to being self-sufficient and independent. I am perfectly able to open a door on my own, carry moderately heavy loads, wait my turn in lines behind a guy, etc. But it is actually up to me—up to all women—to allow men to be chivalrous, or they never can. With practice, there are little things I’ve learned to do to help me pursue this goal: for example, waiting that extra second to let the fellow walking alongside me reach the door first, so he at least has the opportunity to hold it open for me, instead of pushing through on my own.

In My Heart Lies South, Elizabeth Borton de Trevino tells how she, an American woman, met and married an amorous Mexican and spent the rest of her life learning to appreciate the Mexican culture. One of the cultural standards to which she had to adjust was a certain old-fashioned chivalry in which the women did not insist on being totally independent at all times. Her sage Mexican mother-in-law, Mamacita, explained the situation to her, in a teasing tongue-in-cheek way:

“Men are not very brave,” she says, “Otherwise God would have arranged that they bear the children. . . . So it is up to the women to make them practice being valiant . . . Let them, every day or every week, do something that strengthens their will against pain or danger. . . The man who performs a brave act before a lady will love her very much, for she has seen him do it. But if instead, she pushes him away and acts with courage to save him from some physical danger, he will feel robbed of his virility, and he will never feel toward her in the same way.”

What Mamacita says is partly jest, but the lesson she references is very true. Men and women compliment each other; they have distinctive virtues that help them to balance out each other’s flaws. If we want men to be strong, admirable, chivalrous gentlemen, then the battle starts here—with us. We must examine ourselves and see if our lack of feminine virtues is failing to help them be true men. Life is a dance. Let the men lead.

A Defense of Dancing

Whatever happened to dancing, real dancing? Why don’t young people know how to dance anymore? Take any social celebration on a large scale---wedding receptions, for instance. Sometimes, at the beginning of the evening, they’ll play some oldies for which the Baby Boomers will get up and shuffle once around the floor. Then, as the evening goes on, the DJ passes through the generations till at the height of the night, no one is dancing in pairs—everyone is dancing in cramped, disorganized groups: twisting and bouncing and making up dance moves on a solo basis, to the latest hip-hop and funk.

Once, I decided I really wanted to know how to dance; so my brother and I taught ourselves how to do “the Bop.” We only knew a few moves, but we danced together, and loved it—at the Fourth of July picnics in town, at the wedding receptions, etc.—and we invariably got comments and compliments from all sorts, young and old, who said they loved to watch us and that it looked like fun. Then, when I arrived at Christendom, I discovered that there is a dance almost every month. Soon I had learned basic swing, waltzing, box step, contra, and even a little tango. More than that, I got to know the wonderful Christendom gents who danced their feet off to make sure every girl got a chance to dance; I got to know better, too, the other girls as we chatted on the sides between dances. But outside of Christendom, it is very seldom I find people who really know how to dance.

Dancing in pairs, in a definite pattern and style, is one of the social customs that fell somewhat by the wayside in the sexual revolution of the past century. As rules about sexuality and social standards about the roles of men and women were thrown out the window to accommodate liberal feminists, so did other things that involved rules for men and women together, like dancing. People abandoned the dancing patterns of swing and started dancing solo, dancing “freestyle.” A few generations later, most teens today hardly know what real dancing is.

And yet, there are a thousand reasons to learn to dance. You learn to trust, learn to follow and lead, build friendships, grow in respect for each other—and even get the best exercise. But I feel there is a much more important reason for dancing in society today: dancing builds community.

There is no community without communion, and dancing is a form of communion. You and your partner, or you and the entire room, move together in a certain pattern, unified by that common goal and by the rhythm and flow of the music. The pattern—a complicated “lady’s chain” or simple two-step—is the set of rules, the structure, the boundary lines that keep you together. All communion requires a boundary of some sort, because all communion is a sort of binding—a bond. In a friendship, the implicit boundary line is a trust, the tacit belief that you will not betray or deceive one another. In a dance, the rules are the steps you follow. Like a train on its tracks, you can move all the freer when you stick to these boundary lines. They are what make the dance possible—and ultimately, they are what make it fun.

In his commentary on The Divine Comedy, G.K. Chesterton had some words to say about dancing. He realized that a cultural shift in the attitude toward dancing is a mark of modern times:

“. . . Dance stands . . . for order. The dance is, in its nature, a rhythmic and recurrent thing, returning upon itself and therefore, a perfectly correct and orthodox type of medieval moral theology. . . It marks the whole difference between medieval life and modern life. There was a break in history between the medieval and modern age and before that break, life was conceived as a dance, and after that time, was conceived as a race. Medieval morality was full of the idea that one thing must balance another; that each stood on one side or the other of something that was in the middle, and something that remained in the middle. There might be any amount of movement, but it was movement around this central thing, perpetually altering the attitudes, but perpetually preserving the balance. Virtues were like children going round the mulberry bush, only the mulberry bush was that burning bush which is the symbol of the Incarnation. Now since that break in history, the dance has turned into a race. That is, the dancers lose their balance and only recover it by running towards some object, or alleged object. Not an object within their circle or their possession, but an object which they do not yet posses. The flying object; the disappearing object. And as some may hold, a disappointing object. The dance is a rhythmic, a recurrent movement around a known center, while the race is a precipitating movement with an unknown goal. The latter has produced all that we call "progress", the former produced what the Medievals meant by "order." But, it was the lively order of a dance.”

To build a true community, you need to build mutual friendships, respect, and charity; in other words, you need to build communion, and real dancing can do that. People in every time and culture have realized that. Pioneers held barn-raising dances. Peasants in Poland invented the polka. Different cultures have each some unique way of folk dancing. When people celebrate life together, they dance—like David before the Ark.

It’s no secret that we need to build up our hometowns and parishes, our neighborhoods, to become true communities and not simply groups of people. Well, then, “why don’t we just dance?”

The Perfectionist

--reposted from my personal blog, God's Spies, and CatholicExchange.com where it was published yesterday.

Last summer, I was privileged to take a class on how to “write” an icon. For one week, I intensely studied and copied the sacred features of Our Lady and the Child Jesus in a fourteenth-century Russian icon. It was a very powerful experience—contemplative and almost like a retreat.

On the final day, after much hard work and long hours, I had nearly completed the icon. As I finished tracing the last few strokes in Christ’s halo, I set down my red-dripping paintbrush too hurriedly, and to my shock it scattered splashes all across the image. Fortunately, such a mistake was reparable, and I instantly began to wipe it away; I painstakingly scanned the painting for any pin-point red blotches.

When I had the last red marks wiped away, I began to apply a protective coat of varnish to the image. As I ran the brush, dripping with the thick, glossy varnish, over the edges of my painting, I realized to my horror that there was a glaring red splatter on the side of my “storm-blue” border, unfixable and obvious to the artist’s eye, and it was now sealed beneath the irremovable coat of varnish.

To me it seemed like a bleeding wound in the lovely body of the icon. I didn’t understand how I could have missed it. I gasped and panicked, allowing the other ladies in the class to try to soothe my vanity by telling me it was not noticeable. Then, as I stood there, dripping varnish from my brush and lamenting loudly, one of these kind ladies spoke up.

“That’s good.”

“What?” I sputtered nervously, and stared at her.

“That red dot is good,” she said patiently, “even though no one can see it really but you. Nobody’s perfect. Only God can make something perfectly, so it’s good to have that little flaw on your icon to remind you of your human failures.”

I could do nothing but sheepishly bite my lip, nod, and proceed with my varnishing. I knew she was right. She had discovered my secret: I was a perfectionist. I had prided myself on the quality of my painting, and even secretly attributed it to my obsessive attention to detail. My reaction of melodramatic distress at the tiny flaw was simply a result of the perfectionism which could not stand to admit I had made a mistake, that my work was notperfect.

This is because perfectionism is simply another kind of pride. There is a whole world of difference between doing something to the best of your ability, honestly trying to complete a job as well as you can, and having an unnatural drive to do something perfectly.

But didn’t Jesus say, “Be perfect as your Heavenly Father is perfect”? Yes: but what that means for Christians is constantly striving for that ideal of holiness, pursuing it with determination in spite of our mistakes and flaws, getting back up again after we fall. That does not mean refusing to accept that we can make mistakes, or despairing when we do.Hard work and a determination to do something right is admirable; pursuing an ideal is the motivation for man’s greatest achievements. But perfectionism is not the pursuit of an ideal; it’s a sort of hopeless agony over miniscule errors, an improper focus—ignoring the bigger picture to point out the flaws that do not ultimately make any difference at all. The idealist will fight for a main goal and willingly endure a thousand little annoying imperfections if they do not compromise his principles or ultimately hinder his progress; for, as G.K. Chesterton once said, “Idealism is only considering everything in its practical essence.” The perfectionist, on the other hand, will not be satisfied unless every detail is flawless—something that, in truth, is unachievable on earth. So he will often be ungrateful and unsatisfied with a job well done; no matter how good it is, he will find a flaw. If a student, he is distressed with a grade of 99 instead of a 100, even if he studied his hardest; he quibbles about unimportant details when working on a project with others. An idealist learns from his mistakes. A perfectionist won’t let them go.

The irony is that a perfectionist sees his own motivation with a skewed perspective. He may tell himself he is doing something to please another, or to make someone proud of him, or to do something worthy of his talents, or even to give glory to God. But in reality, when his drive is perfectionism, he is doing it for himself, to satisfy his own desire. It’s a desire that assumes he can exceed his human limitations by his own power; he fails to humbly recognize that what good things he does or makes are not ultimately to be attributed to him, but to the One who made him: God.

The pride of perfectionism goes hand in hand with false modesty. Both are a sort of lying, to oneself or another, because authentic humility is simply the truth, which sees everything plainly in the clear light of virtue, in its proper position according to its relationship to God. Such is the humility that allowed St. Thomas Aquinas to call his great works of theology, which are priceless when laid beside other human works, “a pile of straw” when laid at the foot of the cross.

My friends often remark upon the beauty of my icon. I try my best to receive their kind comments graciously and with gratitude; but when they are gone, I take a peek at the little red dot on the side of the painting, to remind me that true humility will recognize that even in my best achievements, I am not perfect—I am a finite, faulty creature, and can only pray God to bring something good out of the talents he gave me–in spite of my mistakes and sins.