Goodbye, Comfort Zone

Lately I feel like I keep getting inspired (or pushed, if you wish you see it that way) to keep moving forward. This is how my inner monologue occasionally goes:

Me: Okay, God. I think I got it -- why I was being tested. I understand. I'm okay here. Wait... are you pushing me out of my comfort zone again? But I like my comfort zone. Can't I get a break? Please? Not even for a little bit? I shouldn't settle? Yes, I know You're right but... Huh? I need to keeping moving forward? Alright. No, I'm not complaining. I just really love my comfort zone. However, if you want me to keep going, I will. Your will, God... not mine. Yes, I trust in You even though I have no idea what's going to happen in the future.

While the above applies to different areas of my life, my biggest focus has been on my past academic comfort bubble. Coursework these past couple of weeks has been rough for me. I knew grad school was hard but I wasn't anticipating it to be this time consuming. Two books in particular were read ridiculously slow (way too slow for me) because of how complex and verbose they were. The general consensus amongst my fellow classmates (and even my professor) was that the books were not easy to grasp. It wasn't that I was a total dunce (though it occasionally feels that way listening some of my classmates; my goodness, they will do amazing things for the Church). I just had to take my time and try to get through it all as best as I could with a little help along the way.

I'm currently finishing up my first paper, a week after it was originally due. No, it's okay; I had an extension due to the time lost post-accident last month. I didn't want the extension, to be honest. I wanted to meet the original deadline. Remember when I wrote about having academic pride earlier this year? I was dangerously close to going there again but this paper helped me realize it early enough to stop it. I had to humble myself and rein in the pride that wanted to pop up again. Old habits die hard, you know? No, I was not going to have it easy like I'd had in previous years. I was going to have to work harder than I ever had just to finish that paper.

When I accepted this, I talked to the right person and was able to get an extension. Did I want it? No, but I knew I needed it. Sometimes things take time and hard work. This paper was a beautiful reminder of not only that but that it's always best to trust Him. As I got closer to the deadline (prior to receiving the extension) and saw that I was nowhere near being done I said: "If I don't finish this paper, Lord, and if it makes such a difference that it will put me in jeopardy of potentially having to leave the program (side note: paper worth a good chunk of my grade)... it will be because You have something else planned for me. I will accept it. I put my trust in You." Maybe He doesn't want me to give up yet because, despite the stress I put on myself to meet the deadlines, I've felt an overwhelming peace about being in this program. Hard work isn't fun but I do love it. I've never enjoyed myself in an academic setting as much as I have recently. I can't get enough of the works of St. Thomas Aquinas (for Philosophy) nor anything that's been assigned in my Theology course. Am I still behind (in general)? Of course... but I'm willing to work harder now that I'm learning to adjust to my new schedule (which includes thrice weekly sessions for my back and a whole lot of taking public transportation).

The quarter ends in less than a month. I have two more papers and a lot of hard work ahead of me. I might've lost a majority of the first half due to circumstances beyond my control (as well as horrendous lack of time management with a dash of procrastination) but that doesn't mean I can't catch up. I can... with God's help. I hope that by Thanksgiving Day weekend I will be all caught up. That is my hope but only God knows if I'll be able to meet that goal. If not, it won't be because I didn't try. For now it's all about trust and hard work.

There's another area in which I feel God is inspiring me to move forward but it may be too early to tell. For now trust, prayer, and resigning myself to His will is all I can do. Oh yeah, and I need to be patient. As independent and (occasionally) stubborn as I may be, I know that His plans are much greater than anything I could ever plan for myself and I can't wait to see what's in store for me next.

Your will, God... not my own.

Anyway, that's all I wanted to share with y'all for now. I have most of my paper done but I want to add a couple more things to make it flow a bit better so I'm going to go do that. :)

I hope y'all are well!

As always, thanks for reading and God bless! :D

And... Break!

Hello from the past... or, um, a couple of hours earlier. Well, that's confusing. Okay, let's start again. Hi! It's still Monday night as I write this but will be posted on Tuesday morning. Thank goodness for the "schedule" feature. ;)

I'll be taking an online break for the rest of the week. Can it be done? Who knows. I'd like to think I have enough willpower to do it. I have an unfortunate addiction to social media since most of my friends use it to communicate. However, I've been successful in the past AND I have a paper due in less than a week so, yeah, I need to do this. I hope that (with the break) I'll be able to get ahead in my coursework. That's the goal. I'm woefully behind right now because I lost a little over a week following the car accident but I'm going to apply some war paint and go for it. That's right, I'm going to war against time and the crazy amount of reading assigned for my courses and I intend to be victorious.

I hope to return next Tuesday at the latest. Yes, maybe I'm being very optimistic but I think I can actually do it. I have a number of blog posts already in the works (in my mind) but I really must do the responsible thing and catch up first. Hooray for getting the hang of this "adulting" thing people talk about. lol.

I will be praying for y'all during this break and hope y'all have a great week. :D

Top 5 Saint Dreams (That I Can Share)

For those of you who've stuck around for the past 7+ years, you know that I go through periods of back-to-back saint dreams. While I don't have them as often as I used to, saints still love to pop into my dreams. St. Benedict of Nursia, Pope St. John Paul II, and Bl. Pier Giorgio Frassati are the ones who appear most often. Sometimes I get only Mama Mary and Jesus. (Side note: the dream in which I saw Jesus on the cross and was physically lifted up by Mama Mary to embrace him may be my favorite dream). Other times I'll get saints I'd never heard of before and I have to look them up the next morning.

I know some of y'all can remember a time when I used to shared them all the time and may be wondering why I don't anymore. The truth: I don't know. Maybe because they're more personal now. I share them with my spiritual director and those closest to me (or people who were in the dreams with the saints and I) but that's about it. Maybe I'll share more in the future but, for now, I'm going to go back in the archives and share my top 3 dreams that I've already shared as well as two I haven't shared yet but that have stuck with me for over 6 years.

In no particular order...

I

St. Benedict of Nursia is the saint that pops up in my dreams the most often and I'm almost always fighting evil in those dreams. Sometimes it's pitch black but I know he's right next to me as I face-off against the devil. When it's pitch black, he helps provide a light... even if that light is something bright that is cupped in my hands. Yeah, they can get pretty wild. However, my favorite didn't have anything to do with fighting evil. This one is 7 years old according to the original post. I was somewhere in Northern Europe, traveling by myself. I was told by a group of girls that I had to go up the stairs (of the hotel), but that I had to run quickly because there were dark spirits that would try to hurt me. We ran upstairs and, as we did, I felt the most excruciating burning pains in my stomach. When we got up to the room (the only room the stairs led to), the girls said that they'd felt nothing but that I had these massive lacerations all over my stomach... before I could do anything, little black bugs (the size of ladybugs) started raining down. The girls began yelling about how disgusting it was when I started to ask St. Benedict for his intercession. I don't know how the bugs disappeared but my stomach began to heal immediately. I was able to peel the wounds off as if they were stickers thanks to him. I had this dream about 4 years or so before I began having stomach problems in real life. 

II

I was triple-teamed by St. Catherine of Genoa, St. Catherine of Siena, and Bl. Pier Giorgio Frassati in a dream about a year and a half ago. In the dream I could sense that St. Catherine of Genoa wanted to help me but I wasn't sure how. Before long, St. Catherine of Siena and Bl. Pier Giorgio were there as well -- both by my side -- because they had decided to help as well. At some point it became clear that they were there to help me discern my vocation. We were together in a pitch black place -- pitch black but I could still make out their faces and figures. It was a place of some confusion, almost like a blank slate because I didn't know where I was going. I faintly remember that they were trying to decide who was going to be in charge of helping me discern my vocation, it was kind of funny. Anyway, towards the end I remember that we were standing in a line. It was me, Bl. Pier Giorgio Frassati to my right, St. Catherine of Siena to his right, and St. Catherine of Genoa to her right, looking forward to the emptiness and unknown. I actually don't remember hearing about St. Catherine of Genoa prior to the dream but I remember getting a kick out of finding out what she's the patroness of when I woke up and Googled her -- patron saint of brides. Amused, I was.

III

One of the earliest saint dreams I shared on this blog is almost 8 years old; it was amongst my first blog posts. Anyway, this is what I wrote: "Two nights ago I had a very cool dream about saints. I was standing up on a cathedral's dome looking down at saints walking around in a garden. And, yes, they were actually alive in my dream. The cathedral was big and white and so were the stairs one had to take to get up to where I was standing. As I was looking down, I noticed St. Dymphna and St. Jude walking around. I don't remember if I called their names or if they just looked up but they looked at me and I knew they were going to come up to talk to me... I went inside and waited for them and then I saw other saints walking in from different hallways and staircases... I remember St. Teresa of Avila was there... I don't remember talking to any of the saints. I know they acknowledged me and made it clear that they knew I was there." Side note: I've since recognized the dome and the gardens as the dome of St. Peter's Basilica and the Vatican gardens. 

IV

My first I have yet to share: I'm going to skip a lot of really personal stuff that came up in the dream but let's just say that it was the first time I saw and chatted with St. Therese of Lisieux in a dream. It was all about vocations. We were in this sort of bookstore and she told me that I had to be patient in figuring out my vocation. She showed me a pink-red book and saw that it was a book on relationships. She really stressed that I had to be patient because it was going to take some time before I was able to live my vocation. I was given a number which, looking back on it, was curiously significant because it ended up being tied to the thing that held me back in my discernment. I had the dream a little over 5 years before I was finally able to move forward in my vocation discernment. I think almost all the St. Therese dreams I've had have been tied to my discernment, which is why I ended up entrusting it (discernment) to her. It just seemed appropriate.

V

Second dream I haven't shared: I'm going to combine a number of dreams into this one because they have one saint in common: Pope St. John Paul II. The first one was the first part of the previous dream (St. Therese). Basically, a young man had come to get my parents' blessing because he wanted to propose. In the dream I could see everything that was happening though they couldn't see me. I remember saying "how is my dad here? He's dead." (side note: this dream happened about a month before my dad actually passed away.) Anyway, after talking to my parents, I saw Pope St. John Paul II coming into my apartment from next door to give us his blessing as well. A few months later, I had two more dreams in which I was at the Vatican and I interacted with him. There was also one a couple of years ago in which I saw him consecrating the Host. I was there with two (then) newlywed friends (in their wedding attire) who could not see what I saw. I was told that I needed to receiving the Eucharist every day. A day later I had another interesting dream in which both my vocation and the Eucharist was brought up but that one involved St. John Vianney.

Yep, so those are my top 5 saint dreams. Not my top 5 dreams (I've had some epic Jesus and Mama Mary dreams) but the top 5 involving saints... that I can remember. lol. I sometimes forget them before I get a chance to write then down. Oops. lol.

Anyway, that's my contribution for All Saints' Day. I hope y'all have a blessed rest of weekend. ;)

As always, thanks for reading and God bless! :D

St. Jude, My Reversion Intercessor

Happy feast day of St. Jude (and St. Simon!) For those who haven't been reading this blog long enough, you may not know that St. Jude played a huge role in my reversion. Since I'm crunched for time, I'm going to pull some of my past blog posts to help tell the complete story of how his intercession led to my reversion.

There are some of you who've been reading this blog for almost 8 years now (crazy!) so you may sort of know the story, but not in its entirety. I don't think I've ever written it out completely so... here we go.

I unofficially left the Church shortly after my confirmation at age 13 even though Mass attendance had been sporadic since I was about 11 years old. Yes, I was confirmed early. That itself will get its own blog post on St. Cecilia's feast day since it's also the anniversary of my confirmation. For now, let's just say that I spent the entirety of my teens away from the Church. As I explained in my post about why I remain Catholic (originally posted June 5, 2015), I was "Catholic" without practicing the faith or attending Mass. But I didn't know that I still held onto Catholic values until much later. In that time, I just knew that I was "Catholic" because I had gone through the whole baptism-first communion-confirmation process.

During that time... oh boy. I was going down the wrong path. I listened to terrible advice from people who meant well but really ingrained some terrible habits in me. My teen years (well, 13 through 19) are what I refer to as my "lost years." While I managed to avoid teenage rebellion (seriously, ask my mom) and barely survived my teens in one piece (avoided partying, drinking, drugs, and every other act of teenage debauchery you can think of; didn't even break curfew), there was a lot of damage done, interiorly. I was still going down the wrong path when I entered college but something happened between 19 and 21 that completely changed me.

First, at 19 and 20 was when I began to, basically, mature. It was a slow process (am I done yet? lol) but I began to see that there was more to life than going to concerts three times a week, more than the drama that some people live for, more than what my life was all about. I had received an offer to fully enter the entertainment business at 20 and I declined it. I've always been a people pleaser but 20 was when I began to stick up for myself and to pull myself away from the wrong crowd... and they didn't like that.

The mental and emotional abuse I received from my so-called friends was so bad that I ended up getting sick. I was an abnormally healthy child/teenager so it scared everyone. The doctors couldn't figure out what was going on with me (this was before they began attributing my symptoms to anxiety disorder). At one point (in the summer of 2006; shortly after I turned 21), I ended up in the E.R. three times in 5 days. As originally posted: October 28, 2010: "... I was so sick that things like 'she won't make it' and 'she has little time' were thrown around."

I began to pray for the first time since my teens. Mom was a fan of St. Jude's so I began to pray and ask for his intercession. Because I wasn't properly taught how to pray, I bargained. "Help me get healthier and I'll stay in L.A. for college. I'll go to a Catholic college." (side note: I was England-bound in those days; Bath Spa University was where I would've ended if I hadn't gotten sick and if my dad's cancer hadn't returned.) I somehow began to get healthier within the following two weeks or so, the so-called friends began disappearing, and so I kept my promises.

Having my prayers answered, my curiosity was piqued. What was Catholicism all about? I mean, really? Why were these prayers answered and not my last prayer? The faith of my childhood was so foreign to me at that point. I had wanted to be a nun when I was about 5-7 years old and I loved attending my catechism classes for my first communion but my confirmation was actually what made me step away from the Church. (Again, I'll share this story in a couple of weeks.) My inner academic nerd began researching and eventually it all just clicked for me. I basically renounced all my bad habits (some of which were just... horrifying) and made a personal vow to get rid of them as I learned more about the Faith. That eventually led to a complete 180.

Friends who knew me prior to my reversion can attest to the fact that I'm not the same person I was at 19/20. I mean, my core personality is still the same -- still goofy/silly, a bit reserved (bordering on shy in some situations), sensitive, I still love writing, and I still love helping people. That has never changed. But the little things that they were used to... gone. I'm so grateful to St. Jude for his intercession because it was through that answered prayer that I reverted back to Catholicism.

One more thing... are you wondering how this St. Jude statue got chipped? Here's the shortened version of the story (originally posted: December 27, 2007):
"This story takes place in mid-January 1994. I was about 8 years old at the time and I'd never experienced a real big earthquake before... I felt my dad picking me up from my bed, very abruptly, and I opened my eyes to see (and feel) everything shaking violently. Things were falling off the walls, glasses and china was breaking everywhere, if you've ever experienced an earthquake, you know what I'm talking about. Since this earthquake was a really big one, the lights went out almost immediately after the intense aftershocks started...

I don't remember too many details about what happened during the shaking except that the statue of St. Jude fell as soon as we (my parents and I) reached the doorway and were safe from anything falling on us... I was talking to my mom about... the St. Jude statue in my room. I very faintly remember (or think I remember) St. Jude's statue falling as soon as we got under the doorway and my mom confirmed it. Apparently, while all other things were falling around us there are three things that didn't fall: the statue of Santo Niño, the statue of St. Jude and the big framed picture of Our Lady of Guadalupe which was up on my bedroom wall. Now, the earthquake was a 6.7 on the richter scale, it was pretty intense. Windows shattered just by the shaking, yet the picture did not fall or get hurt in any way...

My mom says they (saints and Our Lady) were all looking out for us... We haven't experienced an earthquake that intense since, thank God, but every time we have experienced smaller earthquake (and/or aftershocks from nearby earthquakes) my mom grabs the St. Jude statues without even thinking about it. My dad grabs the statue of Our Lady and my mom grabs St. Jude... if I don't get to him before she does."

While my dad is no longer with us, we definitely still grab this St. Jude statue (chipped and all) when there's an earthquake / aftershock.

And, for the record, future husband -- I fully intend on giving our first born son the middle name of Jude after St. Jude. You have been warned. :-P

There you go -- the story of my reversion and of why this St. Jude statue (we've been given two more since) is chipped. :D

I hope y'all have a great rest of day and remember that St. Jude is a powerful intercessor that you should definitely not be afraid of reaching out to in difficult cases. :D

As always, thanks for reading and God bless! :D

Why I'm Not Ashamed to Cry

This past week has been particularly hard for me. After the summer I had, my car accident last week, and everything that has followed since, it's no wonder that I had a moment in which I felt like I had to take a break and do something I'd been holding in -- cry. I didn't do much of it but the couple of minutes of it followed by a nap really did me good.

I didn't cry when my car got hit, when the impact made me hit my left temple (hard) on the plastic divider next to the door or when my right kneecap hit the steering wheel. I didn't cry when they had to put a neck brace on me and put me on one of those hard, plastic boards and taken to the E.R. I didn't cry when the doctor told me that my platelets and red blood count had gone below normal again. I didn't have a panic attack or cry in the following days.

I didn't cry when I realized that I would be playing "catch up" in my classes for the rest of the quarter due to the week plus that I lost due to the pain of the injuries sustained in the accident. (side note: I lost all of last week because I couldn't read for more than 15 minutes without getting a horrible headache that lasted hours).

Crying has gotten a bad rap and that's hard for me because I've always been a crier -- since I was a child. I'm sensitive and that's perfectly fine. I cry at the end of Hallmark commercials, people. lol. It's who I am. I feel things a lot more deeply than people think. However, throughout the years I've been told that I shouldn't cry. Crying meant weakness. Crying meant that others had power over me. Crying meant that I was giving up. It took me a long time to realize that that wasn't the case. Even up until recently, I had to hide when I cried because people made me feel ashamed for crying.

Crying this past week didn't mean that I was weak. It just meant that I needed to release a lot of the stress that I had unintentionally bottled up. Crying is my release -- when I'm angry, sad, stressed, or even overwhelmingly happy. After everything that happened, I needed it. For the first time in a long time, no one made me feel like there was something wrong with me for crying and I appreciated it.

After those couple of minutes of tears shed, I ended up falling asleep. I've been doing a lot of that lately -- sleeping. My body is trying to recover from everything so that's understandable. After I woke up, I felt a lot more energetic and I didn't feel as sad (which I've been fighting this week). I was able to finish an assignment for a class and go on with everything else I've had to do.

If I've learned anything since the accident (besides the fact that my guardian angel is a heavenly rockstar and that my friends are amazing), it's that it's okay to do things that are seen as "weak" by others. Asking for help? Despite it being drilled into my head that I shouldn't ask for help and that I should do everything myself, I've come to realize that it's okay to do it when you just can't do something by yourself. Admitting that I can't do something and voicing it? Totally fine. Crying? No longer ashamed to do it, even if I get reprimanded for doing it.

How have I been since the mini crying jag? Fine. Things are still super stressful but I have faith that everything will work out. Afterall, God never gives us anything we can't handle... and what we think we can't handle is what brings up closer to Him.

School: I've been able to do what needs to be done though time is not on my side. With so many chiropractor appointments, hospital/doctor visits, and the use of public transportation, I can't find much time to catch up on reading for my classes... but I feel as if I've been training for this all my life. The reading marathons, I mean. ;) Before anyone suggests reading on the bus, nope. I feel sick if I try it and sometimes it's impossible if there are no seats available. I don't know when I'll catch up but I'm not throwing in the towel yet. Verso l'alto!

Car accident: It's hard to not have a car in this city. I dislike public transportation because of the time wasted. I will admit that I hate chiropractor appointments but I seem to have hurt my back so I need to continue attending them. I've been walking a lot more (kind of have to) so my kneecap doesn't hurt anymore and my legs are getting stronger. All of this will help me so I shall endure it.

Health? I've had low platelets and anemia for a while now (only had a brief break between April and earlier this month, apparently) so I know what I must do. Lots of red meat and iron-rich foods (Mini Shredded Wheat!). I've lost some weight since the accident but I can gain that back. Goonies never say die! ;)

Yes, life is stressful and I may again cry at some point due to the stress but that's okay. Crying shows that I care. It shows that I feel deeply and that my heart is in the right place. Crying is part of my self-care routine and that is actually good for me, healthwise. Hey, if I can quote Anne Shirley and joke easily with friends, you know this "crying to release stress" thing works. ;)

Anyway, I should try to get some more reading done. I'm stuck at home until, at least, tomorrow or Monday so I should take advantage of it. :D

As always, thanks for reading and God bless!