Tag: #miracle

The Summer of Jen

My husband went back to work on Monday, August 21st.  He is a teacher.  His return to work effectively ended the Summer of Jen.  If you’re a Seinfeld fan, you know what that means, as it parallels The Summer of George.  The episode, The Summer of George, was the 156th episode and last episode of season 8. George lost his job with the Yankees and effectively took three months off, never changing out of his pajamas and never leaving his apartment. 

August 23rd marked three months since I separated from my previous job. And while I did not spend those three months in my pajamas, I got outside at every opportunity, I enjoyed the Summer of Jen. I spent three glorious months learning what retirement might be like. My husband and I spent as much time in nature as we possibly could. We filled our days with fishing, hiking, and backpacking. We took time to seek out obscure landmarks and hidden local gems. We spent evenings by the campfire, beneath the stars. We planted a huge garden and cooked together, smoking all kinds of meats, mastering the art of curing bacon and trying our hand at canning. We foraged berries and mushrooms, spent more time reading, and took the dogs on countless walks. While we had to dial back some things because I was, in fact, unemployed, it was one of the best summers ever. The Summer of Jen was a summer of freedom. We had no constraints. My husband was off for the summer, and I have been off indefinitely as I continue to search for my next great adventure.

We woke early most days, began our mornings with prayer, reading, walking or rucking, then brunch.  On the mornings we went fishing; we headed out a bit earlier and enjoyed sandwiches on the boat.  The days we hiked were similar to the days we fished; the days we went on other adventures almost always involved a late breakfast, usually omelets, but sometimes something more elaborate.  It was a summer of no schedules, no rules.  It was a summer of bliss.  We even determined that we would be able to survive retirement together. 

I am extremely grateful for the Summer of Jen.  I needed that time to reset, to relax, and to learn to appreciate everything that life throws at you, even the things that you may not have wanted but desperately needed. 

If I am being honest, I was lying to myself about how wonderful my last job was.  It wasn’t wonderful, it was life-sucking, and I was miserable, but I didn’t actually know it.  My husband has commented on how happy I have been these past few months.  I am beyond happy, I am joyful.  And surprisingly, not fearful or worried about the future.  I know I eventually have to return to the workforce, but I have been taking this time to figure out who I really am and who I want to be.  It is almost like a period of invention or rediscovery. 

I helped my son with some home improvement projects during my time off.

I have spent most of my career in the fundraising world, and while I have thoroughly enjoyed that work, maybe it’s time for a change or maybe it isn’t.  That’s what I have been trying to discern these past few weeks.  I have been trying to hear God’s voice and understand his direction for my life. I have been getting a strong sense that I am supposed to “come home,” but I am not sure where “home” is. 

Food
Dogs
Family
This is Home
to me.

Then this morning, I woke up groggy.  I packed my husband’s lunch for work and sat down to read.  (I am currently reading Miracle in Darien).  About 30 minutes into reading, I had this strong sense that I should get ready and go to the 8am mass at Blessed Sacrament. As I sat waiting for the service to begin, I again got a strong sense of needing to “come home.”  I was reflecting on this “feeling” as mass began, unsure of what it meant.  

Mass started.  Deacon Bob gave a great homily tying the first and second readings together on this Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross. Little did I know that this mass was being offered for my Dad.  When the petitions were read, that is when I discovered the intention of the mass.  It was a bit overwhelming because of how I actually ended up at mass in the first place. 

And while I still don’t know what I am supposed to do next and am not really sure what “come home” means, I do know that I was supposed to be at mass this morning and that God is doing something in my life.  Until it is clear to me what that next step is, I will continue to trust in God’s providence for my life. I will continue to enjoy this break.  Although the Summer of Jen has officially come to an end, the sabbatical, the rediscovery, the reinvention is still in process. I will continue to find joy in the change and uncertainty. 

I hope if you are dealing with uncertainty, with change, or even with challenges, you are able to find the joy and find your path.  Until then, please pray for me, and I will continue to pray for you.

Brave and Crazy

I have been reading the Gospel according to Mark this past week. If you read Mark with no background information about Jesus, or even if you do know that background, you might actually think that Jesus is out of his mind. I mean, let’s be honest, Jesus can come across as a little crazy, right? I am sure the people who witnessed the actions of Jesus and the events of the day might have thought that Jesus was crazy.

He is a man who is performing amazing miracles. He is healing the lame, he is driving out demons, he is challenging Pharisees, he is rebelling against the traditional view of the Sabbath, he is talking in parables, he is bringing the dead back to life, he is feeding the masses. And he is being challenged by others about all of these things, yet he never backs down. Jesus was faithful to God the Father in everything that he did. Everything. I imagine that he would appear to be crazy to the people of that day.

I know today, with everything that is going on in the world and even or maybe especially, within the Catholic Church, there are many people who think that devout Catholics are (brave and) crazy. For those of you who think that’s true, let me just tell you we’re not crazy. (Maybe we’re brave for standing up for our faith.) What we really are is faithful. There is a big difference.

You cannot judge the whole by the actions of a few. Although in today’s society, many people do just that. (And I am in no way condoning or justifying anything that has happened, been covered up, etc. by the Catholic Church, I am just as disgusted by it as anyone). But evil exists and it can take many forms. And while we, as Christians, don’t always understand why these things happen or where these things are going; we have faith and believe that God will bring something good out of everything, even when it looks like chaos. “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”- Romans 2:28. Even when we don’t understand. But we remain faithful. We continue to pray. And we know that God has a greater plan and that God is in control.

Today say a prayer for one another and have faith, God will bring something amazing out of the chaos. And today, please pray for me and I will continue to pray for you.

Live Your Best Life

Just over two years ago, my friend Michelle’s daughter was gearing up for her senior year of high school. It was the first day of school and she was on her way to class when she was in a horrific car accident. It was devastating and she was in a coma for months. It was a difficult time to say the least. Her daughter and my son were close in age and this accident really hit close to home.

Michelle and I went to college together. We bonded over beer and the Indigo Girls. We went out, talked about boys, talked about the future, hung out with our friends, helped mend broken hearts, celebrated relationship victories, stressed about exams, got drunk, shared late night pizzas, borrowed each other’s clothing, everything college-age friends do together. We lived our best college life. After graduation, before the dawn of social media, we all went our separate ways. Many of us lost touch. But we fondly remembered our college days.

Years later, with the emergence of Facebook and Instagram, we all eventually reconnected. It was like no time had passed. Those years that separated us didn’t change our relationships at all. So when Michelle moved to Pittsburgh, we would occasionally get together for lunch, share texts back and forth and an occasional phone call. Yes, we were busy. We were mothers and wives and employees and volunteers and daughters and sisters. But we reconnected and would sometimes get together to share a Bloody Mary in the Strip District. We had picked up exactly where we had left off.

So when this accident occurred, it was shattering mentally and emotionally. I couldn’t imagine what she was going through and was really at a loss for what to do or say. So I tried to be there in any way that I could. Her daughter was in a coma for months. I would visit, hold Michelle’s hand, hug her, and just be there. We cried together and sat in silence together. There were no words that could fix the hurt, the pain, the fear, and the sadness. So I would pray that Rita would wake up. I would ask others to pray. I tried to visit at least once a month, but looking back I could have done more. I could have visited more. I could have been there more.

After what seemed like forever, her daughter began making progress. She began to improve; Rita finally woke up! I was an amazing day. There were finally tears of joy, there was the miracle for which we had been praying. I continued to visit, to see how she was progressing with therapy, etc. She had to learn how to walk again, how to feed herself again, how to do everything all over again. But she was making incredible strides and was making a miraculous recovery.

By June of the following year (10 months after the accident) her daughter was doing amazingly well, had actually graduated high school, and the family was moving to Colorado. Her husband had a great job opportunity and it was closer to both of their families. I was sad when they moved, because I had not gotten to visit them as much as I would have liked. There was always something more important, more pressing, but I was so happy for all of them. They had a walking, talking, living, breathing miracle in their lives, and they were making the most of every minute.

The family moved to Colorado, and things were going well. Then in the fall of 2018, Michelle was diagnosed with a brain tumor, glioblastoma. And it was inoperable. When I found out I was angry, I mean really angry. How could she have an inoperable brain tumor? How was it possible that it was glioblastoma, the most common and most aggressive form of brain cancer? How could this be happening to her and her family after all they had already endured over the last 14 months? Why would God give this suffering to their family? How much could one family endure? And the only thing I could continually ask was why? I didn’t understand then; I still don’t understand now.

I have been thinking a lot about all of this over the past several weeks, because of the time of year that it is. I think about Michelle, I think about her husband and her daughter and her son (who is Marine). That suffering didn’t make sense then, and I will be honest it still doesn’t now.

Michelle died on January 2, 2019. I will never understand why, and I can’t wait to ask God someday. I know there was a reason, a purpose, and some greater good that will or has come out of all of that. So I will be grateful for the time I got share with my friend, thankful that we were able to reconnect nearly 2 decades after college, appreciative that I got to know and be a part of her family for a little while – even though it was during some of the most painful moments of her life. I am thankful because what I learned from her is summed up in the line of one of our favorite Indigo Girls songs – “the best thing you’ve ever done for me, is to help me take my life less seriously.”

It doesn’t diminish hurt or make me miss her less. There are days when I want to call or text her, but I can’t. So I just pray and remember to live my best life. Michelle lived her best life, of that I am sure. She was a free spirit, a light that radiated joy and love, an honest and outspoken friend who had your back, who lived life on her terms, and seized every moment. So today I will remember Michelle, I will live my best life, I will not take anything for granted and I will make the most of this time that God has given me. Michelle, until we meet again, I will remember you with love and joy.

Live your best life, don’t take anything for granted, and make time for others because you don’t know when they will be taken from you. And today, please pray for me and I will continue to pray for you.

High School

I work for the local Catholic schools and my office is located in the high school building, my Alma Mater. One afternoon, after several hours on the computer, I decided to take a walk around the school.  It was surreal to be in my high school, wandering the halls. 

I walked to the art room where I spent most of free time when I was in high school.  I was an artist back in the day.  I loved to draw and paint.  I spent every free moment in that room, usually painting.  The art teacher, Mr. Cockman, let me spend all the time I wanted in there.  (In fact, when I entered college, I entered as an Art Studio major.  I ended up with a degree in Economics, but that is a story for another time.) I strolled down the hall past the rooms where I took Economics with Coach Ferrare and History with Coach Bahen.  I peeked in the biology lab where Mrs. Mihalyo had us dissect fetal pigs.  I had biology lab right before lunch, so the days that ham and cheese sandwiches were on the menu were the days I didn’t eat.  And it took a long time before I could eat the chef salad again (which was a favorite) because of the julienne ham on top. The home economics room where Mrs. Gasser taught us how to sew and cook is now a science lab.  And the tower where I had religion class with Fr. McGuire is now used for ministry (which is really cool).  Fr. Orsini’s classroom has been converted into offices for the junior high administration.  And my office is adjacent to the Principal’s office.  While a lot of things have changed, it still feels like the high school that I attended back in the late 1980’s.    

I absolutely hated high school.  While it wasn’t horrible, it was not a fantastically fun time for me.  I was neither part of the cool crowd, nor was I considered an outcast.  I really just kind of did my own thing (something I still do to this day).  I really didn’t care what anyone thought and was kind of a non-conformist.  That really has been the way I have lived my entire life.  And as I look back, it really wasn’t so bad. I made some really good friends, and because the school is so small, everybody knew and still knows everybody else.  It is its own little community.  And the graduates identify as Crusaders even decades after they have graduated.  We reminisce about CCHS traditions and experiences and hold those memories in high regard. 

They say you can’t go home, but, yes, you actually can.  It may not be the same as you remember it, but you can go back.  And you can remember what you choose to remember the way you want to remember it.  It reminds me of a quote from the television show, This Is Us, that says – “there is no such thing as a long time ago, there’s only the memories that mean something and the memories that don’t.” Hopefully you can smile when you think back because those memories mean something. 

They say that God heals the heart before the miracle occurs. There is profound truth in that, which I now realize as I think about my journey over these past few years. I don’t think I need to explain that if you have read any of my other reflections posted on Facebook. I can definitely say that has occurred in this circumstance. What is God healing in your heart and what miracle will come of it? Please pray for me as I continue to pray for you.