Play with the Child Jesus

Two days in a row to post on my blog...man that is quite the record for me. I feel inspired to write about my meditation I had in prayer today. I felt it was a divinely inspired thought, so I hope others can get something out of my words.

I closed my eyes after communion and made myself aware of the presence of God around me. The church was dark and quiet, as I like it. I had a meditation come to my mind (I would compare it to a daydream), and I saw a little boy, roughly around age 4 or 5. As young boys do at this age, he started playfully running and then looking back at me to see if I would chase after him. I naturally did chase after him, playing along with his game. I found myself running through long grasses, and he kept motioning me to follow him. He kept laughing and I kept chasing--this kid loved to play! Suddenly, he stopped and started to take long grass (reeds?) and stack them in a pile. He started to take mud between his hands and smash the grass and mud together. "Um, God, where are you going with this?" But the meditation continued. Next thing I know the little boy grew a few years old, and looked to be around age 10. He ran to a nearby stream and leaped into, gathering fish with his hands. I stood watching in awe, as he joyfully ran back to his makeshift pile of grass and mud and skillfully built us a fire. He took the fish and pronounced them on long sticks, and he slowly roasted the fish on each side.

Does even the little child Jesus always provide for me? I never posted this a year ago...(it was originally written in Jan 2011, and it is now Dec 2011) but I feel like as it is Advent, the Child Jesus wants to get reacquainted again. What can I learn from this little Child? Does He want to teach me how to be a child again? Does He want me to hold Him? Does He want me to learn how to play while I work? Yes, He enchants me--this little spry boy who catches fish and builds fire out of mud and reeds. Light a fire in this heart, o Little Child of Bethlehem, and teach me how to become a child who can play with you and love you.

Coffee...Bosnian style

So I bought this little golden pot from a thrift store about two months back, and always wondered what it was or what it did. I assumed it was a "chocolate pot" or a contraption to melt butter, as it was so tiny, and as I don't really do much with sugar right now, I resorted to using it for butter melting. The reason I bought the little lovely is because on the bottom it says "Made in Sarajevo"--so I HAD to buy it then, for love of all things Bosnian.

Well, after spending time drinking Joza's kava, I decided to make my own, as it is a snow day, and I can't exactly leave my house as the snow pummels down. My mother is giddy putting up all the Christmas decorations and hanging the boughs of holly and adding mini Santas to every spare inch of space, but I am dreary as I look for temporary jobs on the internet. Inspiration strikes: I shall make Turkish coffee. But how? I googled it--and it said you need an "ibrik." As I studied the picture, I realized...I actually have one of those. Weird. Although, I am not surprised. I found my little golden pot from the thrift store and happily followed these directions: http://www.howtobrewcoffee.com/Turkish.htm

It took easily twenty minutes, as I had to grind up my Trader Joe's gingerbread coffee grinds in a mini grinder (also a thrift store find) and then heat water slowly and let the grinds rest in the "neck" of the ibrik. From there, I slowly watched the foam rise, and I would remove the coffee from the heat and slowly stir in the foam. This process took longer than my patience would allow on a "normal day" and I was delighted once again by how Europeans make everything such an art. My mom even commented that in Europe you never see anyone ever walk down the street with a carryout container of coffee, as is so common in America that you can buy actual Starbucks-esque containers that LOOK like carryout containers to carry your coffee in. We value our grab-and-go ways--people to see, places to go, money to make/spend.

So, yes, I made my coffee. My mom said it tasted like "coffeehouse" coffee, as it surpassed her expectations, which is a big deal--trust me. It's nice to know you can bring the slow life to your fast life, and who knows, you may find an odd little pot in your cupboard and discover it actually has a use!

Mirepoix and Ironing your Underwear

Oh the joys of simple living. One reason I love Europeans is they know how to live simply, yet beautifully. You notice when anything is labeled "European" whether it be boots, coffee, or a car--you know that it's going to be unique in quality and style. Yes, Europeans do things a certain way--and I like it.

I went to visit my favorite Bosnian today--whom for privacy purposes I will call Joza. (Yo-sah). I find myself infinitely fascinated by her. She keeps her house in immaculate condition, as she is a Eastern European woman who was taught from the crib to keep a house tidy and orderly--something THIS American girl could learn from. I walked into her kitchen where she had a rising bulge of dough peeping out from under a big plastic bowl covered by a make-shift lid. I intently watched as she sprinkled dough on the counter and worked the rising mound into oblivion, shifting its shape into two, oblong loaves ready to be popped into the oven for a mere twenty minutes. I questioned her on her bread-making skills, and asked how she learned to make bread, and she merely scoffed and said, "Every European make own bread." They do?! But how? Do they pass recipes around villages, or is this passed down from babushka (Russian for grandma) to babushka? What's the deal with every Euro knowing how to make their own bread? I mean, making bread isn't so easy! If it was, millions of Americans wouldn't buy it every week...

But she just said she makes it when they run out (so, every two days) and I watched her as she aimlessly sprinkled flour into the large bowl and doused it with tons of salt, and carelessly let it rise all over again. She smeared it in oil, and asked if I wanted coffee (kava) and I eagerly said yes. Her coffee is one of a kind. Ever had "cowboy coffee" or "Turkish" coffee? It's the same thing in Bosnia. She laconically grabbed her tiny metal teapot, which is specific for making such coffee, and filled it up  high with water. She opens up her near-empty cupboards, which were only filled with the essentials: a special spice that is from Bosnia, which I've questioned her about before, and other spices, and a huge container of Folgers coffee. She took the coffee grounds by heaping spoonfuls (three, to be exact) and piled them into a mini grinder, and grinded the already ground coffee so it was as fine as gold dust. She poured the grounds into the wee pot, and slowly stirred the coffee grounds and water into a singular, thick concoction of caffeine and delight. I watched as she took the same "lid" that moments earlier kept her dough under control, and now transformed it into a tray to hold floral saucers, a dish of sugar cubes, and the wonderful pot of kava. I was delighted by her simplicity and her attention to detail. What ever happened to hospitality and doing things in a particular fashion? Don't toss me a Mountain Dew, dude...

And on to the topic of ironing...do you ever iron? Because I don't. I mean, yeah, if I have an interview or if my dress pants are atrocious, than I will iron them. Joza said her house was very messy, and then pointed to her ironing board with neatly stacked piles of clothes folded on top. I laughed and said it looked good to me, and then she told me she needed to still iron those clothes. I was horrified and asked if she ironed everyday, and she nodded definitively as if the question was obvious. "Do you mean to tell me, you iron all your clothes daily? Like, even t-shirts?" And she again nodded her head boldly, and I think my jaw dropped. Seriously? Am I missing a necessary skill that every person does to look groomed? She then said every Bosnian woman does this--and that they even iron their underwear. She told me has given up this practice, but it's very normal in her country.

And what's that little concoction, you say? It's mirepoix--every French cooks secret weapon. My mirepoix was both French and Italian, as I made it with both butter (French) and virgin olive oil (Italian). Mirepoix was named after the French chef, Mirepoix, who referred to the celery, carrot, and onion mix as the "Holy Trinity" of aromatics. I think the Thai would argue that scallions, garlic, ginger, and crushed red pepper would compete, but indeed, it is delicious. I made a pumpkin soup for a friend a few months back, and I followed a recipe that I vaguely remembered, and it was just awful. It was bland and not even liberal sprinklings of "garlic salt" could redeem it. But inspiration came as I remembered why my original try at pumpkin soup was so delectable--yep, mirepoix. It's the starting base for any decent dish--and the French, Italians, and Portuguese know it. That's why their cooking is a step above the rest. Well, the French certainly have their secrets hidden underneath their scarvess and berets, and one of them is mirepoix. It's simple, it's easy, and it makes every dish so much more savory. I almost died when I finished adding the pumpkin and chicken broth to the blend. Do yourself a favor--add mirepoix to your next dish and you will taste a bit of the good life.

Fin.

Born to Fly

I love this song "Born to Fly" that I got on a CD from my lovely friend Lucy on my birthday "Freedom is not a place that you go, but is a feeling inside...kind of like you're flying..." We were born to fly! Some of us are more free-spirited than others--we don't like structure and would rather hitch hike across the country than buy a bus ticket. You get my drift...yes, drifters. They are people who wander--go from place to place searching for freedom, or what they think freedom is. "Looking for the next fix..." as Lucy summed up vagabonders. I've been doing a lot of soul searching lately. I just finished a 54 day rosary novena, and one of the things I prayed for was deliverance based upon a verse in the book of Tobit. Whether we know it or not, we all have spirits, or blocks,  to our happiness and true fulfillment. Some of who are very self aware see them, and some of us, well the majority of us,  just accept them as natural parts of who we are. That is where it gets tricky--when we accept our demons as who we are. We embrace our darkness.

Through this novena I have felt so many different emotions...it started out as a cleansing experience, where I felt like I could see my future differently. I started to dream again! My heart had a new hope and I felt like a transition was occuring. I quit my job and was in high hopes of finding my dream job or next adventure. I wanted the freedom of a new beginning--a new dawn to arise. I wanted an adventure. Man, I just wanted to travel.  I wanted to take a big hiking stick and wear a bright red woolen cardigan and trampse through heathered moors. But the thing is, as lighthearted and innocent my travels may have seemed in my head, I knew there was something deeper in my vagabonding--I was searching. Searching for what? My destiny...a place that feels like home...a sense of belonging...adventure, Heaven on Earth. (my dad's opinion!) I guess, I always just expected to stumble upon my vocation, like--"Oh hey, there you are! I almost tripped over you as I was scaling this mountain!" I didn't want to wait and find my future hub or my life's mission: I wanted to find it in the midst of adventure.

So, this ache...this longing to be in Europe...to travel...to vagabond...to be free...it was grasping at me ever so tightly. Lincoln felt like a cage, and I felt eternally trapped in it. I had several people I dearly admire and respect spiritually tell me that I will find my vocation here--not "out there." They told me to say yes to God here (in Lincoln) and to wait on the Lord...to find my joy in the little adventures in the town I've lived in for almost 25 years. "God is in consistency. He wants us to make roots. Eventually, you need to think about your vocation. There is great risk in going off and doing random things all the time."  To me...this was a clipping of my wings, and ugh, it hurt! I wanted to soar and live outside of the box, and be somewhere else, dangit! I have friends who are missionaries telling me "Just accept this Rachael!" but yet, I couldn't. I'm a stubborn Bohemian! And I would reply "Easy for you, your a missionary!" Yeah, bitterness was coursing through the veins. So what am I jabbering about? What is the lesson?

As a wise stranger came up to me at St. Pat's last weekend as I was praying and despairing said, "Don't run ahead of the Lord." Yep, a random stranger actually came up to me and told me her whole life story--about how she got in her car and was travelling around the US looking for "her peace"--for somewhere to live and be happy. Hmm...sound familiar? She tried Southern Indiana, Knoxville TN (she heard it was a fun place), and ended up in Grand Island living at a homeless shelter for 2 weeks. Her name was Ruth--and she was like Ruth in the bible, as she was on a journey away from her homeland to find another. Ruth was very angry at herself, and said she wished she would've stayed home, and not blew all her savings on travelling and searching. She gave me a lot of advice such as "Marry a good Christian man and have lots of babies" which I politely smiled at, but what I could see the most in Ruth was a deep sadness as she longed for stability, and a place to rest her head. I recognized it, as I too felt so hollow and empty after wandering around too. She told me to not run ahead of the Lord, and to not look for my destiny "out there"--"It's right here!" she insisted. I had an Italian Carmelite priest give me the exact same message two months earlier. Why must it be here, Lord? Can't it be fifty miles away even? Why Lincoln? And how long? Not my whole life, surely?! Yes, this is my battle. Acceptance and detachment. Acceptance of God's will...and detachment from my own. Fiat.

I want to give everything to Jesus,  I would
fling myself off a cliff (spiritually) and live off Providence, and do
all manners of crazy devotions of love to PROVE my trust, and yet His
desire is for me to TRUST HIM by giving Him all my desires. By
sacrificing. By consenting to Lincoln which in my head equals
mediocrity, so that I can surrender my will fully.

A saint I really love is St. Gemma, who desired to be a Passionist nun so ardently, but the Lord never fulfilled that great desire--he instead asked her the greater sacrifice of living in the world and being a lay woman. In fact, I think the reason I feel a closeness to her is I share the same cross. I, too, want to be a missionary (like St. Therese) and would give anything to live radically for the Lord RIGHT NOW, but yet I feel like Jesus is challenging me. "Rachael, if you REALLY want to love me, then stay where you and accept the blessings and the crosses here. Love your family. Love your friends. Glorify me in the little ways. The world may never see your fire, but I do. And if you really love Me, you'll rest in my heart and give me these great desires, and I will burn them away in the fires of My Passion." He finds it more pleasing when we submit...when we sacrifice, when we love until it hurts. You see, the people He calls to the missions or to leave family/friends and go live off Providence are making a costly sacrifice...many of them feel this call, but may fight it. Perhaps they are comfortable where they are, with a great job and security, and don't want to be impoverished and unknown. Yet, the ones who desire this kind of lifestyle (ahem) are asked to be still, and remain where they are. Why? The paradox of the Lord, I suppose! But truly...we are all made differently. The Lord Alone knows what we want, what fuels us, and what pains us more than anyone. He knows what will be the most costly and when He asks us to come and follow Him, it very often requires an offering--an offering of our very lives. So, to stay in Lincoln--to give up my "freedom" is painful. It is no easy thing. And yet freedom...can only be found in Christ. My travels...my terms...my dreams...yes, they may "feel" free, but I am only free if I am free of all desires and conditions. The key is to put this "trapped feeling" in the light of  Christ and to understand where this restlessness stems from, and then I will feel true freedom. The freedom is not in externals, but it is in Christ who uproots all our demons and throws them in the blazes of His Love. We are His Beloved, and when He says "Be Free!" He means it.

Alleluia!

Lord, what are you doing?!

I feel an urge to write today. I just spent the afternoon with my best friend, Erika. We started the morning off with mass, then headed to my house where we reheated leftovers and talked about our lives. Then we proceeded to move to a different location to talk sum' mo! Oh, how I could spend all my minutes on Earth talking to people--delving into the hearts and souls of fellow travelers to Heaven. A single conversation can be a road marker pointing you in the next direction--an opportunity to learn, and with Erika it often is. She sees my heart and understands my desires for I believe we were knit from the same Heavenly cloth. We drove around helplessly looking for a coffee shop, and then I told her I was just gonna drive and "see what happens." We ended up at the Sunken Gardens, with my burnt coffee and her Ben and Jerry's. I was so restless--not being able to find a spot to sit and give her my full attention. The beauty around me was not penetrating and I was trying to savor a moment that felt half there. Do you ever have those days? Where you are surrounded by your best friends, beautiful scenery, all that should fill you on a material level, but yet your spirit craves more? And you know that there is such a huge hole that needs to be filled that you're daunted by the task. Erika and I were discussing our hearts' desires (what else?!) and I told her my emptiness...how God is leading me on the way of abandonment, and how no matter how hard I look or search, the search is fruitless. I told her I can no longer search, but simply need to wait for Jesus to put it right in front of me. My heart got broken in the last year going halfway across the world, only to show up in the same place I've always been, and yet I know that even though I have come full circle (literally!) it is apart of the journey--it was pre-destined.

I want to be completely solid that if God leads me out of this country again (Jesus, I pray you do!) it will be completely His doing. I want His full prompting. And you know, I believe He will do it. I believe that HE is going to take me somewhere. I believe I am going to be led to a new land. I believe these things because in the quiet of my soul He has promised me the return of joy. I believe a new dawn is awakening, because He whispers this when I pray. I believe it because it is written on my heart. I yearn for the heathered moors of Yorkshire...I yearn for the chants of Russian Orthodox choirs...I yearn for the mist of the Umbrian hills. I want to follow the Spirit to the ends of the earth--just like the apostles. I think I have a traveler's heart--a pilgrim's heart. And Carmelite spirituality (an ancient way of life inspired by the hermits on Mount Carmel, dating back before Christ) teaches that our life on this earth is an ascent up the mountain to the Heavenly City...it is a pilgrimage. I identify with this--I can see I am also a traveller in the spiritual sense. Oh, Lord how much longer until you uproot me into new soil, for only you, the skillful gardener, can take this plant and put it into new soil! I do not know what you want to do with me, as I feel no desire to do anything but your will, which is vast and unknown. I feel led to nothing, but also led to your embrace, which holds everything. There is no singular desire to do anything but live in your heart, and that is not something I can Google or get a degree for.

Our world is darker than ever...and all I want to do is pray, pray, pray--and become more bold in the face of the New Age, abortion, materialism, and the attack on marriage--and on everything that is Godly.  I want to fight--I want to go out and be a warrior for the Kingdom. Yes, that is my heart's desire, and I yearn to do this while resting in the secret places of the Spirit. I want to be a contemplative prayer warrior. Gosh, what a rant. It is good to stir yourself and identify your true desires, because there are false dreams inside of you that shake and rattle for attention, and we must discern their fruits. Is this leading to joy or confusion? We have to rebuke our false selves! This only can come through prayer and fasting. Fasting is so essential to strip your spirit of its falsities...we cannot see clearly or think clearly unless we have the spirit of self control and of surrender. Speaking of fasting--it is Sunday and I am starving. I am going to go feast on veggies cooked in olive oil and cheese.

I need to give God my all this week--and how do we do this? Give God are all? Well, I suppose it comes down to being vigilant--waking up with Him on your mind, and begging the Spirit to work through you all day long. To call upon Heavenly assistance constantly--to devote yourself to the Mother of God, the Queen of Mercy, who distributes graces to the poor and needy of spirit, by giving her a portion of your day (a rosary? perhaps, a meditation on her sorrowful heart?) Remembering the Heavenly courts...and the elders, and the angels who constantly chant "holy is the Lamb!" day and night. Agnus Dei...Yes, it is a constant begging of graces. I can do nothing good on my own without second by second Heavenly aid.

Mother Angelica cracks me up--she said in her wonderful show, Mother Angelica Live,  that when Our Lady appeared to St. Catherine Laboure, her hands were full of diamonds and gems falling to the ground. She said these were all the graces she yearned to give to souls (from her Son) and she said they fell to the ground because NO ONE was asking for them. The stream of graces falling from the hands of our Lady is CONSTANT. It never stops! Look at a miraculous medal--do you see the rays? Those are the graces! And Mother Angelica said, "Man if that would have been me Our Lady appeared to... I woulda said 'Gimme all you got!' Oh Lord, I thought that was hilarious. And so real! Yeah, I'm a grace hog too--I want em all Lord! And so when I receive Jesus, Body and Blood, daily in the Eucharist, I also say to Him "JESUS! Give me all you got!" and He has been giving me many graces--patience, peace, and a deeper desire for Him during times where normally I'd be pretty much despairing. It is all grace--and trust me, I need more.

Okay, I really need to go--I'm still starving. But remember, the real food is His word...His life within us. So next time your soul is starving...is restless...remember, that the ONLY way it can be filled is His still, small voice inside of you. This voice is the secret to LIFE, and it will guide you on your journey home to Heaven. This voice knows what your true heart's desire is, and it has been there since your earliest of days...was it not inscribed on your heart in the womb? Go back to your child hood and you will see--the times spent in the fort, the secret wanderings through bushes and climbing up trees, the hidden hours in your room whispering to your dolls and toys--what were you saying? What was your heart thinking? What did you love as a child? God sees you not just as who you are now, but who you were as a CHILD and who you will be on your death bed and throughout the entire span of your life. God does not see you in this limited space of time we call the present, but in your entirety-your full potential. And as a child, you were at your purest state-- untainted, wild, and innocent. This is where we find our true heart's desire--in the freedom of a child's  heart. Go back to that place--your childhood, and seek answers there. I've heard this idea before, and I was reminded of this today by my best friend Erika. She told me the church we were praying in smelled like her childhood home, and it evoked memories of playing in forts and hiding in trees writing down her musings. This made me smile, and I understood that she experienced spiritual childhood--where the Spirit brings you back to your truest self, you as a child, and reminds you to become a child again. So, I encourage you, faithful reader, to find something nostalgic (smells trigger the most memories!) and spend a few moments back in your childhood. Dig through a box of family photos...smell your parents closet (I used to play dress up in my mom's closet all the time), watch an old home video, ask your parents...or maybe say a prayer that God reminds you of your childhood! But go back, and bring something back with you that reminds of who you truly and uniquely are. Amen.

GAPS Diet

So, as many people know, I've been worried about my health for a long time now (about a year and a half). It actually has been roughly two years, since I lived in the Czech Republic when one day, I was keeled over in pain on the tram and could barely move because of stabbing knife in my stomach. I self diagnosed myself with IBS (irritable bowel syndrome) and was confident in that, especially when my med school friend, Rachel, confirmed it--her words "I'm 99% sure you have this." I changed my eating habits overnight (I'm kind of an all or nothing girl) and started to reduce processed foods, avoid milk, reduce alcohol, and started eating new breads--rye and sourdough. I felt loads better--and thought I was in pretty good shape. Then...the hair loss. Yep, I had hair loss (and those who are reading this knew how this plagued me!) It was a small spot in the front of my hairline, and God is gracious, so He made it virtually undetectable if I didn't pull my hair back in a pony. I went to two doctors and they had nothing--they said it was stress or iron deficiency. I was also suffering from fatigue and feeling weak all the time. I was really busy and was working non stop and going to school. I literally think college should have its own disease called "Undergrad Fatigue Frenzy" and it would be called "UFF" because that's the noise you always want to make. Well, I started to pray hardcore about this hair loss and I felt God was allowing it for two reasons--to show me I had a health problem that needed addressing that was hidden, and two, to clear up some vanity issues. And believe me, IT DID.
Okay, onward. So, then I found out about this little unknown organism in my intestines called Candida albicans. All my friends know this organism's name too, because I blamed it on ruining my life daily. We all have Candida--and turns out we need this little yeast organism to have a thriving microbial environment in our gut. But, I have too much. Wanna know how I know? Well, prayer...but also I have thrush on my tongue (first common sign). I also had nutritional deficiencies--and this is coming from a girl who's favorite foods are avocados and almond butter! What the heck, right? I had hair loss, fatigue, digestion issues (IBS), and fatigue. Skin problems too--little red spots on my arms/legs from Vitamin A deficiency. Yep, I knew it was Vitamin A. I've been studying this a long time! And God is also good because I discovered through my health crisis that I LOVE nutrition--and also love healing my body with nutrition. I would have studied this in college if I knew I would love it as much as I do. But I still try to evangelize my health gospel to all who want to know :)
So, I tried an "anti-candida cleanse" last summer. It was...awful. I went a whole month and basically ate like a Paleolithic cavewoman--nuts, weird grains (quinoa, millet--yep, what they put in birdseed), chicken (little red meat), and non-sweet fruits (lemons, berries), but truly little of fruits. I wanted to be hardcore. I felt like I was the living dead. I felt thin, and I was thin. I was sidewalk counseling one day and telling my friend Sue about my troubles, and she exclaimed, "That sounds like the GAPS diet!" We ended up talking for hours about the Weston A Price Foundation, and how Dr. Price travelled to 15 different countries studying how primitive cultures eat! (This was in the 1930s) He discovered key elements of their thriving, superior health was fermented foods, animal by products (if it was a vegetarian culture, such as an African tribe, they ate the blood of the cow) and also ate plenty of raw dairy products (cheese and milk). It was joy to my ears--I loved all those things! I love hearing about doing things "the hard and old fashioned way" but I also LOVE to travel, and I was so intrigued by this doctor! I ended up attending meetings called Wise Women of Weston Price and fell in love. But sadly, I was going to live in a retreat house in Scotland and had to give up control of my health. I also heard Scotland has some of the worst dietary habits on Earth. I was crossing my fingers for more of an organic food culture in the Highlands...
I ended up going out to Craig Lodge and was greeted with biscuits (cookies) and black tea (I was avoiding caffeine). Meals were tough--I had to eat whatever they served me, and that was truly a cross. Another hard thing was the whole fast on bread and water twice a week thing. Now, I do this--I always tried to listen to Our Lady of Medjugorje and follow her peace plan. However, at home I either made my own yeast free bread or substituted. At Craig Lodge, we worked all day and I was not in the kitchen, so I ate the cheesy bread and cinnamon sugar breads. I literally felt sick--those breads were NOT good for me, as a person with yeast overgrowth.  My hopes for  a self sustaining atmosphere with fresh sheep's milk, garden veg, and basically all homemade fare were fleeting.  I remember unpacking the car full of groceries (we were a bed and breadfast in a sense, so they always bought a TON of groceries) and filling the freezer full of wonder bread and tub upon tup of  "Utterly Butterly." I was very upset and asked "Why do we serve this stuff? It's so bad for you!" And the reply back was "We're living poverty. It's all we can afford." Hmmmm. There is truth in that statement--we WERE living poverty, and we can't expect to buy the highest quality butter imported from Kerry or whatever, but I still had a mind that we could supplement in some areas to buy a healthier bread (and heck maybe even make our own bread!). But, I could see this was not an area to argue. And, my yeast problems were my problems. Maybe other people in the house had iron stomachs or amazing gut flora. But onward home I went...in search of a new solution. And God always provides

Spring Awakening

This spring has truly been a renewal for me. As my friend Lucy says, we are a Eucharistic people "broken and blessed, broken and blessed." I have felt so many things at once going on in my soul that it is hard to put them into words. Holy Spirit, ahem, I need you again. Ya know, I really keep up this whole blog thing for myself. I love reading through what I've been through. Heh, my mom just walked into the room and told me the Austrailian chef I like (the tall, blonde one) is thirty five. The reason I bring this very necessary bit of information up is that I am now living at home (with my mum and pup) at the ripe old age of twenty-three. It as a severe cross for me when I first started living here. I moved into the "far away" room (a few feet further from the dining room than my old room) and endured it, even though its 20 degrees colder than the rest of the house and I can hear BOTH television sets blaring below me. The inner monk in me was in agony. Not to mention, I was searching for a way out. I had no job, no path, and no hope. I was a lost soul and felt really broken. God in his beautiful way led me to become friends with a wonderful priest of Divine Mercy, and he told me about a mission school in Rome called the Emmanuel School of Mission. Hearing about this school really lifted my soul--it was God's way of telling me--do not worry! I still want to make your heart burn! At this point, I really have no clue what God is doing with me. I feel content where I am. I'll be honest, sometimes I yearn to go explore Russia or live in a beautiful little French village or live in a retreat house in the Swiss Alps. I yearn for the simple life. I yearn for the romance of Europe. I yearn for the ancient, old ways of times long ago. But, I am learning that my greatest yearning is to be united mystically to Jesus. It's the most romantic desire of all. God wants to empty me of these good, even innocent desires of my heart, so that I can allow the greatest desire of all to enter more fully--and in fact completely consume all other desires. HE is everything. Until we can understand how much He yearns to be ONE with us (He wants to marry us one day eternally in His Kingdom!) we will always be chasing pipe dreams and illusions. I want the real life--which is Jesus. I don't care if I have to live in Lincoln the rest of my life working in a cubicle--if I am mystically united to Jesus, then I will have all.

                     The best part about this picture is that my dad put the angel in the tree before I took it.
Lately, I've had angels on my mind. I just told this tidbit to my dad and he said, "Well, when don't you?!" And truly, not that often. I think of God a lot...and Heaven...and saints, but angels? No, I kind of left them out of the Kingdom. Angels are suhweet. I actually was just praying at church and a magazine caught my eye entitled "Angels." I started to flip through it and it was stories about people seeing angels and how they've helped them. One story in particular caught my eye--it was a story about a woman who prayed for her husband while he was working for the Coast Guard on dangerous missions. She took him to the dock with their two kids late on a cold, windy night. As she was watching him board his boat from her car, she noticed a young girl on the dock sitting serenely and kind of just chilling. She had a plaid shirt and jeans on, and had golden hair. She assumed it was a girlfriend or wife of one of the crew. The girl didn't flinch or move even though her car was ten feet away from her. Right when she drove away, she got the strangest sense that the girl was here for her husband. Days later, her husband came back and said everything went very smoothly, and his wife also felt a sense of deep calm while he was gone. She mentioned the young girl to him, and her husband said there was no girl--even though his wife pointed her out to him the night she saw her! The wife was insistent and then asked the crew if anyone had seen this girl and no one had seen her. She felt a peace from God telling her that this young girl was the angel appointed to protect that boat, the Caternary. Angels are appointed by God to protect individuals, families, and even countries! There is an angel for everything that is important to God--because they provide us protection. I love that the angel looked like a hippie. I imagine my angel to be a hippie...who kind of just sings next to me and tries to point out the beauty when I don't see it. She encourages me when I'm lonely or sad, pointing out the hope and joy God wills for me. I know she's there--and I want to start talking to her more. And--angels totally have personalities. Pray to God to reveal your angel(s) personalities! They were picked to be your life's companion for a reason.

Take me to a new land...

The story of God telling Abram he would take him to a new land, a land unknown to him, always intrigued me. Whenever I read that story, I always took it as a literal shoutout from God to me. "Uh, Rach, yep, its about that time again. Let's go somewhere weird together--just you and me. I like to watch you do weird things, and heck, I know you get a kick out of it...at least in hindsight. So let's go little lady!" No, that's not how God says it...but it's really amusing to think of it that way. But, in my defense, I have always viewed my life as an adventure with God, where He takes me to places I would never have dreamed of. This dream really harvested when I moved out to Czech Republic. I felt God asking me to trust Him. Czech Republic was definitely not my first choice, in fact, it was never anywhere I was attracted to in the least bit. God however made it very apparent He wanted me in the Czech Republic to study abroad. Eventually, I spent a good amount of time there (4 months) and felt His peace with me, even while getting thrown out of bathrooms in TESCO. (Don't every ask if you can use a debit card in an eastern european bathroom!) Despite all the trials I had there, which are endless, I knew it was the best decision I've ever made. I look back on my time in Czech as my coming of age. Being in a country that was 69% atheist taught me to make my faith my own. I was in a program called ERASMUS which is basically just an excuse to move to another country and party. I found out that I had two options: go to mass every day and endure the czech liturgy (no english masses, folks) and sit in cold churches being badgered by bums, or eventually fall back into the party scene due to my loneliness and weakness.

The struggle and fight to see God daily, which came through trying to figure out mass schedules in a different language, locate churches, and find an english speaking confessor (impossible, but God did it) was what made my experience in Czech Republic what it was. The fight for my faith made it beautiful, and God rewarded me with one of the most amazing, whimsical experiences of my life. He rewarded with me the most eclectic group of friends (Alice, Ruthie, Jeongmin, Steph, Heather, Alice, Jess--only in Heaven will we know how God orchestrated our beautiful friendships!) and I was completely charmed by Europe. I wanted to live there the rest of my life. I came back to the US renewed, with a strong sense that God's will probably is just as zany as I suspected, and that from here on forward, my life going to just as whimsical and strange as my time in Europe gave me. I wanted to hold on to all the joy, excitement, and random life lessons I learned in Czech Republic. I craved a life that was topsy-turvy, random, and new everyday. The problem was, Czech Republic was a chapter in my life, yet I wanted to absorb every speck and make it the thesis for my life, entitled "My Life as a Gypsy." Or whatever.  So, now here I am back in Lincoln, two years later, after many failures that were my attempt of resurrecting a time long ago--a dream upon a dream.  I have to stop and wonder, "What is God truly doing with me? And what am I doing to get in the way of it?"

I am now back in Lincoln after the most spiritually, physically, and mentally exhausting months of my life. I spent all of September and October in a remote Catholic retreat house in the Scottish highlands, and then I spent a good 10 days in Croatia and Bosnia trying to find the Blessed Mother of God (more on that later!), and then I found myself in St. Paul Minnesota for a few days in a miraculous journey back to my home, after wandering around Europe without a clue. Somehow I managed to restrain myself into sticking around Lincoln for a good month and a half, and then "here I go again, on my own...(love that song) going down the only road I've ever known" to Wyoming, to work at a horse ranch for troubled teen girls. I stayed a week and then decided to scoot my butt back home for reasons that are too deep to go into on a blog.

We need time to heal, and we definitely need to give God time and the silence necessary to truly guide us. "Delight in me, and I will give you the desires of your heart."- Psalm 37:4. So, apparently, God wants us to be happy. I don't know why this is such a shocker to me. Maybe, because this has been the hardest year of my life, and I've become infatuated with the spirituality of St. John of the Cross, which speaks of detachment, dying to self, and embracing the cross which I will lug with me up the royal road to Heaven. Truly, we do need to die to this world to enter into the beautiful embrace of the Crucified, but God longs for our happiness. He made us for this! It is a paradox--we must die to the pleasures of this world, but yet God states we can find Heaven on this side of eternity. I think my heart yearns for Heaven more than ever. I long to see that city on a mountaintop, aglow with the love of the ages.

"The Son of Man has no place to rest His Head."-Jesus

Oh I do relate to these words of our Savior. Can't every person who has ever had a case of wanderlust, or who was searching for their place in the universe? Christ too was a wandering soul, but as Fr. Kelly stated last night at Theology on Tap: His wanderings had structure. He had a plan mapped out to evangelize to the little towns of Judea and Galilee, sending out his disciples in pairs.  Mine...well, no I cannot say I had structure when I wandered into Croatia with a one way ticket and nothing else. Is this the perfect segway to tell my Medjugorje story? I will save that for my next post. I hope the Holy Spirit gives me the words.

I am on a search. I decided my true vocation is a pilgrim. We all are pilgrims in search of the Holy City on a mountaintop: the City of God. Our wanderings should be inward directed--like the Russian spirituality describes of going inward to your "poustinia"--the desert place in your heart. (Catherine Doherty, Poustinia) Whether I wander physically or I go inward to search for the City of God within me (Heaven dwells within all of us) I know that my calling and yours is to be a pilgrim on this earth. To seek God with all our mind, heart, and soul is the absolute calling of every one of us, and we must never forget it. Man's life on this earth is short, seventy to eighty years if a man is strong, so the Psalm goes.

If you want to be inspired, google "Marino Restrepo." He was kidnapped in the jungle for 15 days and had a vision of Heaven and Hell. I know a lightbulb clicked when I heard his talks. God's quite funny actually--I was listening to his talk and he was describing how we all will die very soon. (A warm tingly topic) He was talking about how it will come much sooner than we think, because look at our pasts, did they not pass in a flash? So too, is our life. Right when i was listening to his words about caskets and such, and how we all will be in a casket one day, a white hearse came speeding at 85mph down I-80! I saw it coming in my rearview mirror, and I couldn't believe it. Oh, i love divine irony. His timing is perfect.