My fiancé ran into two old friends of his the other day. After he explained to them the reason of his disappearance for the past year, they wanted to “meet the girl who was crazy enough to say yes” to him. I laughed when I heard. (I’ll take that as a compliment, folks.)
Crazy, huh. I thought it was one of the smartest things I’ve ever done. I found a guy who is smart, considerate, handsome, funny, kind, silly, romantic, generous, friendly. He’ll follow me up mountains and down ski hills. He lets me cry on his shoulder and then knows what to say to make me start laughing again. He’s encouraged me to chase my dreams and wants to make my dreams come true. He thinks I’m beautiful and loves me. I was crazy to say yes to that?
He was one of very few guys at the university where we met who still let a girl go first through the doorway. I appreciated his courtesy, recognizing that under his scruffy looks hid a real gentleman. In our second year, we went to see a movie one afternoon when a class we were in together got cancelled. He came around to my side of the truck to open the door for me. I was impressed. I thought, “This is the kind of guy I want to marry.” Turns out he is the guy I want to marry, and he still opens the door for me.
He knew he liked me when he first met me, but at the time neither of us was ready to start a relationship, and so he waited three years for me. During that time, he was careful to guard my heart and make sure that I didn’t know he liked me. He knew I liked him, because even though I was trying to hide my crush from myself, my friends – including him – knew about it. Yet he waited; waited while he sought God’s will at the seminary, waited while he dealt with some struggles in leaving the seminary, waited while I went to Australia, waited while I dealt with questions about the Catholic Church, waited until the time was right for us to deepen our relationship. To me, his willingness to wait for the right time and not to rush into things was one of the deepest signs of his love for me.
Back before we starting dating, when we were hanging out “just as friends,” I suggested that we check out an exhibit at the museum. I mentioned what we were doing to my dad on my way out the door, and his reaction was that this guy must be pretty desperate to see me if he’d put up with a museum just to spend time with me. My family doesn’t go to museums very often, so I was thrilled to discover that my fiancé shared this interest – and many others – with me.
Most important of the things that we share is our faith. I had always known that I wanted a man who shared my passion for God, and a brief friendship with a non-Christian guy in Australia confirmed to me that I needed a man who took God as seriously as I did. I had noticed my fiancé’s faith very early in our friendship. We often discussed our differing faith perspectives or the papers we had to write for the religion class we were taking together. I was impressed by the fact that he knew what he believed and wasn’t afraid to talk about it. He also knew the teachings of the Catholic Church very well. He challenged me to think about what I believed, to share my faith, and to find out more about what Lutherans believed.
He continues to challenge and stretch me, to teach me new things. With him, I played Scrabble and pool for the first time, and am still trying to beat him at either one. We took dance classes together, and because he is a very good dancer and a very good lead, I learned quickly. We read books and go to plays together, and debate and discuss both. He has seen my struggles and hurts, and pushes me to deal with them while supporting me in them. He has become my closest friend, as I have realized that I can tell him anything and we talk for hours together. And for all of this, I was crazy to say yes? Then I think I like being crazy.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Monday, December 18, 2006
It's Christmas!
It’s Christmas!
On December 1st, my coworker came into my office at about 3:30 and said, “Quit working! We’re playing now!” She dumped an enormous pile of gold and silver tinsel on my desk, and we went to work stringing it all over our cubicles. Some red and silver tinsel got draped over the thermostat. A little pinecone ornament got pinned on the wall. A gold string of tinsel got taped to the window in the shape of a lopsided Christmas tree, then rearranged into a mostly-symmetrical five-pointed star.
On December 8th, my coworker volunteered us to help decorate the Christmas tree at reception. It’s a small, four-foot tall tree that we assembled in a minute, and then spent half an hour getting the lights, garlands, and decorations on. The receptionist found a ghetto blaster and some Christmas music to put under the tree. Other people wandered by, telling us to straighten the star or asking us if we did in-home consultations. (“For eggnog and ginger snap cookies, sure!”)
This week is the office “secret Santa.” We drew names last week and will spend early mornings this week sneaking around offices leaving presents on each others’ desks. I am one of the early birds in the office, so no one saw me put a jar of cookie mix on my “secret Santa” partner’s desk. Many of my coworkers have been making the rounds of the office, depositing Christmas cards and candy canes on desks, giving each other season’s greetings.
All of the Christmas spirit and excitement is contagious, but under it is something sad. It seems that many people are forgetting the reason for all these preparations and gifts. Neither of the two Christmas cards that I got had the word “Christmas” on them – they said “Happy Holidays” or “Season’s Greetings.” I spent nearly fifteen minutes going through the boxed cards at the Bay, trying to find one that said, “Merry Christmas.” Advertisements around the city proclaim “Keep Christ in Christmas!” while retail stores are telling their employees not to use the word “Christmas.”
In today’s politically-correct, tolerate-everything society, we are losing something precious. Why do we celebrate? Because Christ came to earth. Why do we give each other presents? Because Christ gave Himself. Why do people have a sense of joy and love at this time of year? Because of Christ’s love and joy.
So, Merry Christmas everyone!
On December 1st, my coworker came into my office at about 3:30 and said, “Quit working! We’re playing now!” She dumped an enormous pile of gold and silver tinsel on my desk, and we went to work stringing it all over our cubicles. Some red and silver tinsel got draped over the thermostat. A little pinecone ornament got pinned on the wall. A gold string of tinsel got taped to the window in the shape of a lopsided Christmas tree, then rearranged into a mostly-symmetrical five-pointed star.
On December 8th, my coworker volunteered us to help decorate the Christmas tree at reception. It’s a small, four-foot tall tree that we assembled in a minute, and then spent half an hour getting the lights, garlands, and decorations on. The receptionist found a ghetto blaster and some Christmas music to put under the tree. Other people wandered by, telling us to straighten the star or asking us if we did in-home consultations. (“For eggnog and ginger snap cookies, sure!”)
This week is the office “secret Santa.” We drew names last week and will spend early mornings this week sneaking around offices leaving presents on each others’ desks. I am one of the early birds in the office, so no one saw me put a jar of cookie mix on my “secret Santa” partner’s desk. Many of my coworkers have been making the rounds of the office, depositing Christmas cards and candy canes on desks, giving each other season’s greetings.
All of the Christmas spirit and excitement is contagious, but under it is something sad. It seems that many people are forgetting the reason for all these preparations and gifts. Neither of the two Christmas cards that I got had the word “Christmas” on them – they said “Happy Holidays” or “Season’s Greetings.” I spent nearly fifteen minutes going through the boxed cards at the Bay, trying to find one that said, “Merry Christmas.” Advertisements around the city proclaim “Keep Christ in Christmas!” while retail stores are telling their employees not to use the word “Christmas.”
In today’s politically-correct, tolerate-everything society, we are losing something precious. Why do we celebrate? Because Christ came to earth. Why do we give each other presents? Because Christ gave Himself. Why do people have a sense of joy and love at this time of year? Because of Christ’s love and joy.
So, Merry Christmas everyone!
Friday, December 15, 2006
Skiing in Panorama
I spent last weekend skiing in Panorama. We hit the slopes at 9:00 on Saturday morning, and my fiancé and I were the last ones to hobble off at 4:00 in the afternoon. It was opening weekend there, so not all of the runs were open, but the snow was good. The weather was also great - only -3*C and sunny above the fog.
My uncle and brother accompanied us down the lower slopes for the first run and then headed for higher, steeper slopes. My aunt, mom, fiancé and I stayed on the green slopes at the bottom, warming up more slowly. Then my uncle appeared to say that the top was great and we should go up. In our enthusiasm, we didn’t pause to think about that, but hopped on the chair and headed up.
The valley had been fogged in all morning, so we couldn’t see the surrounding mountains. As we rode the chair, we disappeared into the world of grey fog, and then emerged on top of the fog to a view of snow-covered mountains shining in the morning sun. The fog sat below us like a pillow in the valley, hiding the skiers, the village, and the bottom of the hill.
My fiance watched the hill pass under the chair below us, wondering if it wasn't a bit steeper than we were ready for. I blithely assured him it was fine and we would make it down. He kept saying it looked steep. At the top, we discovered that there was only one way down. We started out, and made it down the first stretch before realizing that perhaps he was right - it was a bit steep. My fiancé was out for only the third time on his snowboard and only the first time in the mountains, so he was learning very quickly. I had been to Panorama once the year before, so I knew the hill a little bit, but still found it challenged me.
We progressed slowly, cutting back and forth across the hill and taking frequent breaks. I retrieved his hat for him after the spills. My mom and aunt chatted merrily together as they waited for us to get down. Finally, we reached the bottom again and went in for lunch.
After lunch, I went up with my uncle and brother. I wanted to see the very top of the mountain, and I knew I would have to do it early in the day, before I got too tired to get down safely. My uncle had taken to calling my brother “Boy Wonder” and “Kamikaze Kid,” but he had the skill to chase my brother down the hill. I didn’t, and wondered for brief moments if I wasn’t crazy to be chasing them up there. However, I knew there was an easy route down – as long as it wasn’t in bad shape – and I desperately wanted to go all the way up, just once.
We popped out of the fog again, transferred lifts, and reached the very top of the hill. Far to the west was View of a Thousand Peaks, and though my uncle suggested it, we didn’t stop to see if there actually was a thousand peaks there. He and I headed down the cat track from the top, known as “Getmedown” – the easy route down for those skiers like me who don’t want to risk their necks on the other black diamond and double black diamond trails off the top. My brother disappeared. I alternated between staring at the mountains and making sure I didn’t fall over the edge of the trail. Coming around one corner, I looked up in time to see the Boy Wonder drop off a four-foot ledge onto the trail in front of my uncle. He was headed straight down the mountain.
My uncle and I continued down the trail, and reached the top of the chair lift, where there was no sign of the Kamikaze Kid. After looking around for a minute, we figured he’d gone to the other chair, and so we skied over there, in time to catch him coming down. We went back up again. My uncle decided to follow my brother down the black diamond run, and I took pictures of them going down, then continued on my merry way. “Getmedown” ended and I skied onto the blue trail I had been on earlier with my fiance, which felt much steeper now that I was more tired. I kept telling myself I couldn’t wipe out, as there was no one with me to retrieve my hat.
Reaching the bottom, I managed to hook up with my other ski partners. The hills were starting to wear, as all the skiers pushed the snow into piles of powder or bare spots of ice. Despite the warm weather, we began to get a bit chilly. The chair lifts got extremely comfortable, and it was harder to get the muscles moving at the top of each run. My mom and aunt headed back to the condo. My fiancé and I took one more run down the hill – stiff and sore and cold – and then also retreated to the condo, where there was a fire, hot chocolate, and soft couches.
My uncle and brother accompanied us down the lower slopes for the first run and then headed for higher, steeper slopes. My aunt, mom, fiancé and I stayed on the green slopes at the bottom, warming up more slowly. Then my uncle appeared to say that the top was great and we should go up. In our enthusiasm, we didn’t pause to think about that, but hopped on the chair and headed up.
The valley had been fogged in all morning, so we couldn’t see the surrounding mountains. As we rode the chair, we disappeared into the world of grey fog, and then emerged on top of the fog to a view of snow-covered mountains shining in the morning sun. The fog sat below us like a pillow in the valley, hiding the skiers, the village, and the bottom of the hill.
My fiance watched the hill pass under the chair below us, wondering if it wasn't a bit steeper than we were ready for. I blithely assured him it was fine and we would make it down. He kept saying it looked steep. At the top, we discovered that there was only one way down. We started out, and made it down the first stretch before realizing that perhaps he was right - it was a bit steep. My fiancé was out for only the third time on his snowboard and only the first time in the mountains, so he was learning very quickly. I had been to Panorama once the year before, so I knew the hill a little bit, but still found it challenged me.
We progressed slowly, cutting back and forth across the hill and taking frequent breaks. I retrieved his hat for him after the spills. My mom and aunt chatted merrily together as they waited for us to get down. Finally, we reached the bottom again and went in for lunch.
After lunch, I went up with my uncle and brother. I wanted to see the very top of the mountain, and I knew I would have to do it early in the day, before I got too tired to get down safely. My uncle had taken to calling my brother “Boy Wonder” and “Kamikaze Kid,” but he had the skill to chase my brother down the hill. I didn’t, and wondered for brief moments if I wasn’t crazy to be chasing them up there. However, I knew there was an easy route down – as long as it wasn’t in bad shape – and I desperately wanted to go all the way up, just once.
We popped out of the fog again, transferred lifts, and reached the very top of the hill. Far to the west was View of a Thousand Peaks, and though my uncle suggested it, we didn’t stop to see if there actually was a thousand peaks there. He and I headed down the cat track from the top, known as “Getmedown” – the easy route down for those skiers like me who don’t want to risk their necks on the other black diamond and double black diamond trails off the top. My brother disappeared. I alternated between staring at the mountains and making sure I didn’t fall over the edge of the trail. Coming around one corner, I looked up in time to see the Boy Wonder drop off a four-foot ledge onto the trail in front of my uncle. He was headed straight down the mountain.
My uncle and I continued down the trail, and reached the top of the chair lift, where there was no sign of the Kamikaze Kid. After looking around for a minute, we figured he’d gone to the other chair, and so we skied over there, in time to catch him coming down. We went back up again. My uncle decided to follow my brother down the black diamond run, and I took pictures of them going down, then continued on my merry way. “Getmedown” ended and I skied onto the blue trail I had been on earlier with my fiance, which felt much steeper now that I was more tired. I kept telling myself I couldn’t wipe out, as there was no one with me to retrieve my hat.
Reaching the bottom, I managed to hook up with my other ski partners. The hills were starting to wear, as all the skiers pushed the snow into piles of powder or bare spots of ice. Despite the warm weather, we began to get a bit chilly. The chair lifts got extremely comfortable, and it was harder to get the muscles moving at the top of each run. My mom and aunt headed back to the condo. My fiancé and I took one more run down the hill – stiff and sore and cold – and then also retreated to the condo, where there was a fire, hot chocolate, and soft couches.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Rite of Welcome
Last Sunday was the first Sunday of Advent and my Rite of Welcome into the Catholic Church (see “Contemplating Catholicism” in the September archives). This doesn’t mean I’m Catholic now; it’s just the end of the “inquiry phase” of my exploration of the Catholic faith, and the beginning of the next phase. This exploration continues until Easter, as those of us in the RCIA program learn about Catholicism and what it means to join the Church.
On Sunday, we stood up in front of the congregation to be welcomed into the church, blessed by the priest, and to receive a cross and a Bible. It was a neat experience for me to make this public statement of my faith journey. Everyone in the church now knows that about a dozen people are seeking God through the Catholic Church. There is also something very concrete about standing up in front of a few hundred people to declare what we are there for.
Each of us has a sponsor who is making the journey with us – accompanying us to the RCIA meetings, praying for us, and standing up at the front of the church with us. My sponsor is my best friend’s mom. She was also my sponsor when I got confirmed in the Lutheran church some eight years ago. Growing up, I saw the crucifixes and icons around their house and occasionally attended church with them. My friend and I went with her mom to Eucharistic adoration, and played quietly in the back of the church while she prayed. It has been neat to have her making this journey and sharing her with me.
Much of what we have learned so far in RCIA, I already knew – Creation, the Ten Commandments, the Trinity. Other things were new – the rosary, the liturgical year, the Church hierarchy. Many things I had already talked over with my fiancé, as we discussed our differing faith backgrounds and what that meant for our relationship. Working through them before encountering them in RCIA has helped me to listen, to learn, and to be able to help the other journeyers there.
We come from many different backgrounds – baptized, unbaptized, Protestant, non-Christian, once-a-year Christian, every-Sunday Christian. We come together to talk about our faith, our struggles, our questions. It has been fun to get to know each other, to hear their perspectives about the issues that we discuss, and to learn more about the Catholic Church. I’m looking forward to the next phase of the journey.
On Sunday, we stood up in front of the congregation to be welcomed into the church, blessed by the priest, and to receive a cross and a Bible. It was a neat experience for me to make this public statement of my faith journey. Everyone in the church now knows that about a dozen people are seeking God through the Catholic Church. There is also something very concrete about standing up in front of a few hundred people to declare what we are there for.
Each of us has a sponsor who is making the journey with us – accompanying us to the RCIA meetings, praying for us, and standing up at the front of the church with us. My sponsor is my best friend’s mom. She was also my sponsor when I got confirmed in the Lutheran church some eight years ago. Growing up, I saw the crucifixes and icons around their house and occasionally attended church with them. My friend and I went with her mom to Eucharistic adoration, and played quietly in the back of the church while she prayed. It has been neat to have her making this journey and sharing her with me.
Much of what we have learned so far in RCIA, I already knew – Creation, the Ten Commandments, the Trinity. Other things were new – the rosary, the liturgical year, the Church hierarchy. Many things I had already talked over with my fiancé, as we discussed our differing faith backgrounds and what that meant for our relationship. Working through them before encountering them in RCIA has helped me to listen, to learn, and to be able to help the other journeyers there.
We come from many different backgrounds – baptized, unbaptized, Protestant, non-Christian, once-a-year Christian, every-Sunday Christian. We come together to talk about our faith, our struggles, our questions. It has been fun to get to know each other, to hear their perspectives about the issues that we discuss, and to learn more about the Catholic Church. I’m looking forward to the next phase of the journey.
Monday, December 4, 2006
Accident Witness
I was sitting in my truck at a red light on the weekend, a couple cars back from the intersection, when a blue van crashed head-on into a black car. The black car bounced backwards and around the corner, and the blue van stopped in the middle of the intersection. The light turned green. My friend and I sat there going, “We just saw an accident!” The six or so cars in the two turning lanes in front of me pulled around the van and went on their merry way.
While we wondered what to do, a bus driver and another fellow jumped out of their vehicles to help the people in the accident. The van’s front end was smashed and the car’s windshield was cracked. Several cell phones appeared as people dialed 911. The driver of the car, a young girl, tried to make a phone call, but she was shaking and crying. I gave her my name and number as a witness, though I hadn’t seen everything because of the cars in front of me. In a few minutes, the firemen arrived, and I asked them what I could do, then again gave them my name and number. Since emergency crews were there and I had done all I could and didn’t want to be in the way, I left then.
When I told my fiancé about this, he said that now I’d get a call from the police and the lawyers and both insurance companies and they’d all have forms for me to fill out and questions to ask, and if it went to court then I’d get subpoenaed and have to tell my story there, which was why all the other drivers had just left the accident without doing anything. I sat there going, “So just because it was inconvenient to do that, I was supposed to be irresponsible and inconsiderate?”
I drove away from that accident knowing that I had done whatever I could, as small as that was. I don’t know first aid, not that it was seriously required. I gave my contact details to the people involved in case they needed some information. Then I got out of there to make sure that I wasn’t in the way. But I thought about those other six people who left, who saw things better than I did, who could give more information. How could they be so caught up in their own worlds that they could just drive away after seeing something like that?
Our society today has a “me first” mentality. Do whatever makes you feel happy. If something is uncomfortable or inconvenient, it must be bad, so avoid it. Don’t help the other people around you. Look after yourself.
I have a problem with that. It doesn’t make this world a very nice place. It’s also not what Christ told us to do. I’m thinking of the story of the Good Samaritan – a story that almost everybody knows and that even non-Christians hold up as a positive value. Jesus also told us to “love our neighbors as ourselves.” That’s something to think about in a world that has a lot of self-love.
It took me an extra ten minutes on the weekend to make sure that some people were okay and that I had done what I could there to help out. Sometimes that’s all it requires to reach out to someone who needs it. May we remember to take that effort.
While we wondered what to do, a bus driver and another fellow jumped out of their vehicles to help the people in the accident. The van’s front end was smashed and the car’s windshield was cracked. Several cell phones appeared as people dialed 911. The driver of the car, a young girl, tried to make a phone call, but she was shaking and crying. I gave her my name and number as a witness, though I hadn’t seen everything because of the cars in front of me. In a few minutes, the firemen arrived, and I asked them what I could do, then again gave them my name and number. Since emergency crews were there and I had done all I could and didn’t want to be in the way, I left then.
When I told my fiancé about this, he said that now I’d get a call from the police and the lawyers and both insurance companies and they’d all have forms for me to fill out and questions to ask, and if it went to court then I’d get subpoenaed and have to tell my story there, which was why all the other drivers had just left the accident without doing anything. I sat there going, “So just because it was inconvenient to do that, I was supposed to be irresponsible and inconsiderate?”
I drove away from that accident knowing that I had done whatever I could, as small as that was. I don’t know first aid, not that it was seriously required. I gave my contact details to the people involved in case they needed some information. Then I got out of there to make sure that I wasn’t in the way. But I thought about those other six people who left, who saw things better than I did, who could give more information. How could they be so caught up in their own worlds that they could just drive away after seeing something like that?
Our society today has a “me first” mentality. Do whatever makes you feel happy. If something is uncomfortable or inconvenient, it must be bad, so avoid it. Don’t help the other people around you. Look after yourself.
I have a problem with that. It doesn’t make this world a very nice place. It’s also not what Christ told us to do. I’m thinking of the story of the Good Samaritan – a story that almost everybody knows and that even non-Christians hold up as a positive value. Jesus also told us to “love our neighbors as ourselves.” That’s something to think about in a world that has a lot of self-love.
It took me an extra ten minutes on the weekend to make sure that some people were okay and that I had done what I could there to help out. Sometimes that’s all it requires to reach out to someone who needs it. May we remember to take that effort.
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