My Little Sister's Wedding

My little sister, Alicia, got married Labor Day Weekend. Paul and I drove out the week before to spend time with his brother and sister-in-law, and then made our way down to Colorado Springs to help Alicia and David get ready. Like any wedding, things were a little stressful. Alicia had been working evenings, and David from the early morning to the afternoon. They hadn't spent much time together, and things still needed to be done. In addition, they had just bought a house a few weeks before the big day, and had some things left at the their old place, as well as boxes still unpacked at the new house. It goes without saying that emotionally, they were less than perfect.

But it was wonderful seeing the two of them work together. Alicia would ask David to do something, and given his personality, he'd need to consider the best way to get whatever she needed done, done. And Alicia, who likes things to be done a certain way, and efficiently, would stop and breathe and not yell, giving David time to think. In fact, the whole time I was with them, no one raised a voice in anger. I prayed for patience and insight for myself, to know when to say something and when to keep my mouth shut, as well as patience and calm for them. I offered to help as much as I could, and enjoyed spending time being a part of their relationship and getting their celebration ready.

My sister and I have always been close. Well, maybe not always. We are five years apart, so I spent the first years of my life being an only child. I still remember my dad carrying me across the street to stay with neighbors the day Alicia was born, and then bringing her for show-and-tell while I was still in Kindergarten. When she started walking, pulling my hair, coming into my bedroom uninvited, I started to get a little turned off on the whole big sister/little sister thing. Alicia wanted to be a part of whatever I was doing, and I didn't really want her around all time. But we still played together, confided in each other, and relied on each other in a lot of ways.

So, seeing my little sister, the pest, the artist, the athlete, the long-light-brown-haired-hazel-eyed beauty I was so jealous of growing up, change into a partner and spouse over the week, was just amazing. For a while, a lot of us, friends and family, wondered when Alicia would find the right person. She didn't live in a culturally diverse area, and she commuted to college, so how would she meet someone? Of course, God has plans for us all, plans we can't see or know until they've happened. David and Alicia met at an Irish bar listening to Irish music. Culture and good beer are two of their commonalities. God knew what He was doing.

As I watched and listened to them repeat the vows they wrote, saw my sister tear up, and David smile at her so lovingly, I knew Alicia was doing the right thing. I haven't seen her so happy, maybe ever. I haven't seen her cry for joy, maybe ever. I have never seen her look so beautiful and poised and thrilled, never ever.

I pray that Alicia and David will always see each other as they saw each other on their wedding day, as a beautiful young couple in love. I pray that when they are angry with each other, they take a deep breath and stop and think about what they want to say to each other. I pray that they take time alone to enjoy their marriage, and that they make time for each other every day. I highly suggest a practice Paul and I have, where every day Paul tells me I'm cute, and I reward him with a hug. God will bless their marriage, I know. I was there when He blessed it with a beautiful blue sky, white clouds the shade of Alicia's satin dress, and mountains in the background as strong as His love, and theirs.

9/11/09

Eight years ago, I was living in central Texas with Paul, and teaching full-time at Temple College. I had driven the 30 miles or so to work, put my bag in my office, and had started brewing tea. A fellow teacher, Riley, came in to ask if I had heard the news about the World Trade Center. I went to his office with him, where his office mate had set up a tiny TV he kept under his desk. We watched as amateur footage showed one plane, and then another, slipping into the tops of the skyscrapers.

I was stunned. I remember saying that going to teach my class of freshman composition students seemed really pointless given the death and destruction and chaos that we were seeing on that small screen. Riley said something like, "It isn't any more pointless than it is on any other day."

The school administrators hadn't yet decided whether or not to cancel classes for the day, so I went into my class and taught. I started by saying that I knew about the morning's tragedy, and asked my students to pray for those people and their families. But then I got into my rhythm, and we got through the class. After that first class, the rest of the day was cancelled, and everyone went home.

I had a long drive home. At the time, we were living in Killeen, which is next to Ft. Hood, the U.S.'s largest military installation. Would the post be attacked? It made sense, given the number of soldiers and equipment. Every radio station was giving news of the attacks. I got home, and turned on the news. Over and over the footage of the planes, both the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, scrolled on the screen. I remember falling asleep on the couch, not out of boredom, but just the exhaustion of watching so much suffering and chaos going on in my country.

Classes were canceled again on the 12th. By then, everyone was scared. Even though no one had attacked Ft. Hood, wouldn't the troops be sent out to defend our country? Who would be sent? When? Where? There were all the rumors of what might happen next, what had happened, who was to blame. We were all shocked and stunned.

But I thought when I returned to school just a few days later, about what Riley had said to me, that my job as a teacher was just as important on 9/11 as any other day, or as some pessimists would say, just as useless. Today I drove to school listening to the voices of family and friends reading the names of their killed loved ones. I walked past a ceremony on the school lawn as I went inside to grade papers. I listened to the national anthem before the start of the Cubs game. And every time, I said a prayer. I pray for those who aren't educated and have nothing to live for besides death. I pray that the people whose lives I touch in a classroom will learn tolerance and patience. I pray that our soldiers will fight for what is right, but also serve our country with dignity and justice, not hate and vengeance. My job as a teacher isn't pointless on any day if I inspire others to live peacefully, with laughter, acceptance and cooperation.

Not a Final Destination

Every road trip I've ever been on has had an end destination. We traveled back and forth from Tucson to northern Ohio during the summers when I was a kid. We drove to Disneyland. I drove to my mom's house in Colorado from northern Wisconsin and Minnesota when I was in college and grad school. Paul and I have driven all over the Midwest and parts of the south. But I've never had one of those road trips where someone leaves the house without a map, without a final destination in mind. That's mainly because I'm type-A and I wouldn't like that.

That's also probably why when I started questioning my path to deaconhood, I felt really queasy. I had felt like there was a map in my hand, pointing me to a final destination of ordination. But all of a sudden it was like the map was swept out the car window, and I didn't have GPS or OnStar or even a passenger to ask for help. There were no roadsigns, and all I could do was stop at the gas station and get quizzical looks from attendants, all of whom had different ideas on how to find my way.

I had emailed a lot of friends and asked family for insight. All of them said to listen to what my heart was saying, to God in my heart. But it felt like God was being really quiet. He was like a passenger who falls asleep while you're driving. He's there, but He's not giving input. Plus, He doesn't wake up for just anything.

I decided after all this questioning to take a break. One of the concerns my discernment committee had was that I've been moving so fast, and while I was making time for the deaconate training I'd undergo, I might burn out. My mom is always one to tell me that I take on too much. Paul does too. Part of me felt guilty, that I was letting Trinity down, or the discernment group, or Fr. Charlie, or even myself. But my health and well-being need to be taken care of. I won't help anyone if I don't help myself first.

I made this decision before school started back, but life has been hectic. School starting, my sister getting married, and just everyday life have kept me running, and kept me away from the blog. I'm praying that I will find time to reflect and keep moving on this journey. I'm looking at this as a stop at a really cool roadside attraction, but definitely not the final destination.