Obsessed with Youth and Beauty?

Although my birthday is still (exactly) 2 months away, I've been thinking about what I want to do to celebrate... and, apparently, it's weird to see because I shouldn't be excited. Because I'm turning 32. Because that means I'm, like, super old. The horror! lol.

I've always enjoyed celebrating my birthday even though I have a track record of absolutely terrible birthday celebrations. The only good ones (that I can remember) have been 18, 20, 24, and 25. Seriously, that's it.

I went on a spontaneous lunch date with a guy I liked when I was 18. (side note: he's been the only Mormon I've ever dated. That itself is a whole 'nother story.) He didn't even know it was my birthday because I hadn't mentioned it but, boy, he was a gentleman. Oh, and we also went to Disneyland around that time.

I celebrated 20 at Disneyland with my (then) two best friends, one of whom is still one of my best friends to this day. It was the first time I'd ever stayed at Disneyland late enough to enjoy the fireworks (save for grad night). It was magical. A few days later we (the gals and a couple of my best guy friends) met up at my favorite diner where we took over the back room and had a blast.

 A day before my 24th birthday, my father gave me the best birthday present when he returned to the Church after being away for over 40 years. Nothing has topped it as the best birthday present ever, except, you know, my mom giving me life.

25 was my first birthday without my father (who died nearly a month and a half after I'd turned 24) and I had so many friends and neighbors who came over for a potluck birthday. Our apartment was bursting at the seams with so many lovely people. I'm sure I had some pretty awesome birthday parties as a kid but I don't remember that far back. Other than that, I have the worsting time.

It doesn't help that my birthday usually lands around Memorial Day (if not on Memorial Day) and right around the time everyone goes away for the summer. Trying to organize something is always a nightmare for this social introvert. I kind of want to do another potluck-type thing, like I did for my 25th birthday. A very casual, chill thing with some friends, maybe some of my brothers (if they're in the area; I never know with them), and neighbors. Quality time is my love language so, you know, that would be the best gift; having my friends here for my birthday. I've yet to solidify -- or even commit to -- the plans but, at the moment, I'm thinking I may just do that.

Anyway, the point of this not to talk about my birthday but about how a lot of people think it's weird that I actually enjoy getting older. I don't know if it's because I was blessed with good genes or because I don't quite understand the obsession with staying young.

I will admit that I have my moments where I go "I actually feel old right now" but those are very rare. Most of the time I'm a sort of bouncy (yes, I did just use that adjective to describe myself) nerd, trying to get through this great adventure that we call life. The only times I look at my age in comparison to how old someone else is is when a (much) young(er) man decides he's interested and I have to say "you, do know I'm *insert number of years* older than you, right?" No, I haven't robbed cradle; I'm simply stating that younger guys dig me. lol. Other than that, age is not an issue with me.

Perhaps it's because my mother taught me to be proud of my age; proud of who I am. She's turning 63 this year (and doesn't care who knows; she'll tell you) and has more energy than I do! lol. She looks like she's about a decade younger as well. She embraces her age and who she is. It's been a wonderfully empowering thing to witness growing up (and continuing to 'grow up'). She doesn't see age as an unfair life sentence like many people do. She isn't rushing out to buy the latest beauty product to make her look younger. She does like to look nice and likes to take care of herself but not to the point of vanity; more like respecting the body God has given you and taking care of it to the best of your ability.

Ever since I've hit my 30s (so, since May 30, 2015, lol), I've noticed the growing trend of "I'm in my 30s now! Noooo! I'm old! I'm haggard! No man will want me!" That and the ads have become increasingly annoying, featuring younger and younger looking women touting the miracle of whatever facial cream will make them 10 years younger. There's so much emphasis on youth and beauty. I honestly don't get it. Is it one of those "the grass is always greener on the other side" deals?

Well, no. I take that back. It's quite clear that it's society's fault for pushing youth and beauty as the ultimate things that we women should strive for. Going back to the ads, how many can you count during a commercial break? In magazines (oy, women's magazines are the worst!)? And how often do we fall for that lie that our self-worth and happiness are contingent upon how young and pretty we look? Lies, my friends. Of course, they're going to push these products (many of which don't work or will only work for a limited time)! They're companies who want to make money off of your insecurities! They have marketing teams who do research and go for the things that make us so insecure, which, (unfortunately) for women has become getting older and not looking like you're just out of high school or college.

There's beauty in growing older. I firmly believe that every wrinkle and line that appears is a story about growing in wisdom and that itself is beautiful. My mother works in a convalescent hospital so I'm used to seeing older women who light up when you visit them; always ready to tell you a story. Have you ever sat with an older stranger and been completely absorbed in their stories of things they've lived that you'll never experience yourself? That is a thing of beauty. Women who are "old and wrinkled" who've cared for others -- whether biological or adopted children or simply other people -- are beautiful. Women who've renounced the world and have devoted their lives to praying for others and doing God's will in cloistered convents are beautiful. Women who've become mothers... consecrated virgins... religious sisters... all beautiful. You men who are dedicated fathers, brothers, priests, monks also get a shout out for bringing beauty to this world in your own ways.

I know some people will say "well, yeah, you look like you're in your early 20s. Of course, it's not a big deal to you." Yes, I do look younger than I am but, in the past year or two, I've noticed that I'm finally losing some of that "baby face" and I'm starting to look closer to my age... and that's totally fine. In fact, it's been great to see as I look back on pictures I've taken over the past couple of years. I can tell you that I've embraced the crow's feet that are popping around my eyes because they tell others that I've had many good laughs, some that have ended in tears from laughing so hard. That means I've had a lot of joy in my life, even in the middle of all the crummy things I've dealt with. Same goes for the laugh lines around my mouth. I actually think they complement my dimples. ;) Yes, that was said half-jokingly, half-seriously. lol.

We, women, need to remind ourselves that our beauty comes from within. No, it's not a bad thing to want to look nice and to take care of ourselves. That's, as I said earlier, simply respecting and wanting to honor the bodies God has given us. It's not bad to want to look nice for our significant others. I like dressing up and looking nice as well. I'm pretty laid back (read: low maintenance) most of the time but I do like putting an effort for special occasions (and Mass). That doesn't mean that I'm doing it to fluff my ego or vanity.

Ladies, when you see a friend (or even a stranger) doing something that emphasizes their inner beauty, say so. Gentlemen, do the same. Don't allow society to tell you that your self-worth depends on how pretty you look. Don't like age dictate what you can and can't do (within reason... that was for you in the peanut gallery. You know who you are. lol). I've seen/heard older gentlemen in their 70s-90s talking about beautiful their wives are... women who, by society's standards, are way past their prime and whose wrinkles are an indication that they are "worthless." I've even heard one particular gentleman talk about how his wife (both in their 80s) was more beautiful now than when she was in her 20s! We need to build each other up, not to the point of vanity but to the point where we can ignore the ridiculous societal norms of what youth and beauty are.

Ultimately, none of this is going to matter. Looks aren't everything. Some people look incredible and have hearts as black as night. Some people look (as our society would put it) homely and have amazing hearts full of love and joy. Have you ever met someone who wasn't conventionally beautiful but their personalities made them even more beautiful? Case in point, y'all. Yes, yes... it's cliché to say that what matters is on the inside but, um, hi, it's a cliché for a reason. When we're done with our journey on this earth, I'm pretty sure God is not going to care about what we looked like but will care how we lived my life and how we served others. Celebrate your birthdays, no matter what the number is! Enjoy life and don't worry about others think of you.

I'm going to leave y'all with this:

"Your adornment should not be an external one: braiding the hair, wearing gold jewelry, or dressing in fine clothes, but rather the hidden character of the heart, expressed in the imperishable beauty of a gentle and calm disposition, which is precious in the sight of God." (1 Peter 3:3-4)

And now that I've written that, I'm going to try to finish my research paper. It's due tomorrow but I think I can turn it in tonight. After this, I have a big exam coming up next week so I may not blog again until next week. We shall see. :D

I hope y'all are having a lovely week thus far. Friday of freedom is almost here! We can do it! lol.

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

My Heart is Bursting with Joy!

"Oh no," I sighed as I looked at my mom. "I'm starting to feel sick... and the physical pains are worsening. My back and my legs are starting to hurt and cramp up."
"Do you want us to stay home?" she asked.
"No. I'll just take generic Tylenol and an extra water bottle in case I need them. We have to go..."

That's how our trip to a local parish for Mass and confession began. Two months was enough... I needed to go to Mass and confession. I've been feeling physically off for most of this past week -- falling asleep often and having weird physical pains -- but I was determined to go. After reading The Benedict Option by Rod Dreher and starting Introduction to the Devout Life by St. Francis de Sales this week, I felt even more courage than usual to, at least, attempt the drive.

"Let's try for confession and we'll stay for Mass if I feel okay," I told Mom.

We got in line half an hour later than usual and there a couple of people in front of us. The priest was running late and we would only have half an hour before confession time ended. I thought there wouldn't be enough time for all of us to get into the confessional, especially since we were last in line. "It's okay," I reminded myself. "At least I'm here and I'm trying."

As we waited for the priest to show up, the youngest daughter of the woman in front of us (in line) came to my pew (we all sat in pews while we waited) and gave me the biggest smile. She was maybe 2 years old. She would go back to her Mom and would wander around the church with a sibling trailing after her but she came back to my pew with the biggest smile a couple more times before her family left. There was something reflecting from her little face that struck me. It was a sense of overwhelming joy. I even thought to myself "it's almost as I'm seeing God's happiness through her little face; as if He were showing me that He's happy that I'm here."

Since I had a long list of things to confess -- things I had somehow remembered from my years away from the Church; big things that I don't think I ever confessed but needed to from when I was 18-20 years old -- I had everyone in line go before me. Though I knew there was a chance I wouldn't go in but I didn't want them to miss out because of the time I might be in the confessional.

I obviously won't say what I confessed nor what the priest said but let's just say that I wept. I cried because I felt the weight and the shame of my sins and then I cried thinking about God's love and mercy and how I had been forgiven, unworthy as I may be. The priest said something things that I could've easily imagined God saying to me through Him. Fear would be defeated and replaced by courage and trust, both gifts from God.

Though it wasn't our preferred Latin Mass, we still stayed for the Saturday Vigil Mass in case we can't make it to Latin Mass tomorrow. Yes, I'm going to try to go to that Mass as well. Oh, what a gift of tears I was given; I couldn't stop myself from tearing up during Mass. In the middle of the tears, I had an interesting observation and thought pop into my mind. As I looked up at the crucifix at the altar, I noticed how pale crucified Christ looked in comparison to all the other saint statues around the parish. The thought "He looks just like me; pale and weak. Yet it is through our weakness that we find strength" came into my mind, completely unprompted, and it surprised me. It's something I will ponder the rest of this weekend.

Though I wasn't able to receive the Eucharist (the last time I tried a regular gluten host, I was in physical pain for about a week or two; I have to wait to go to Latin Mass where they give low-gluten hosts for Celiacs), I made an act of spiritual communion in the pew while Mom went to receive the Eucharist. Cue more tears. lol.

My heart is bursting with joy! I'm grateful for the chance to go to confession and Mass. I'm grateful for the friends who prayed that I would go to Mass... and prayed that I would make it through both this evening. I'm grateful for the gift of courage that I was given, despite being in actual physical pain as we were leaving the house. I'm grateful that I felt well enough to make it through both confession and Mass, though I felt a bit off in line and then broke out in a sweat that made me feel like I was weak and being slightly suffocated prior to receiving absolution for my sins.

I don't think I'll ever be able to attend Mass or confession the same again. In a weird way, I'm grateful that I didn't go to Mass or confession for those two months because it made me appreciate the beauty of the sacrament and Mass in a way that I had forgotten. I'll never take either of them for granted again.

Anyway, that's it for now. I have a couple more lecture videos and some reviewing to do before I attempt this week's exam. The exam is due on Tuesday but I hope to do it either tonight or tomorrow night so I can finish my research paper (which due on Friday) on time as well. :)

I hope you all have a blessed Laetare Sunday tomorrow (or today if you're in Europe or read this on Sunday). :)

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

Remembering an Inspiring Professor

Before I get into this post, I wanted to say that, yes, I know the blog post from earlier this week wasn't posted to either Facebook or Twitter. The applets were down. If you want to read it please click here: Belated Revelations.

I am currently cleaning out the inbox of an email account I've had since I was in high school (we're talking circa 2001-2002; yes, I'm that old, lol). I've gone through emails from 2003 through 2009, the last only two weeks after my father's death. The email I opened was of one of my favorite professors I ever had. The email was a response to my letting him know that I was going to take him for an online course (which was still customary at West Los Angeles College in 2009).

He replied: "Wow, I knew that I knew your name!!!!!!!!!!!! This is an entirely online class so we won't see each other, or you won't have to put up with my jokes!!!!!! Looking forward to hearing what you have to say about this course as we take it online!!!! See you online soon.
Mr. Habel."

He was my professor for two English courses during my freshman year of college at Santa Monica College (in 2004-2005) and, years later (Fall 2009), I took him for an Interpersonal Communications course at West Los Angeles College. I took easy "filler"/elective courses at community college during the 2009-2010 school year because my father had died only a month prior to the start of the Fall semester and I didn't want to start my (now) alma mater and possibly waste $40k (that was the tuition and fees cost per year when I was an undergrad) not knowing if I would have the mental and emotional capacity to get through the entire school year since my father's death had just happened. Thankfully, I was able to make it through the entire school year (arguably my favorite of my entire academic career because of the courses I took) in one piece and with my highest GPA ever.

When I was signing up for courses, I saw that Mr. Habel was teaching a speech course at WLAC. I'd loved his English classes so it was a no-brainer to take it. Even though the English classes started at 6:30 a.m. (yes, you read that correctly), Mr. Habel was always so kind to us (there were maybe 10 of us total) and he was one of the most encouraging and optimistic professors I've been blessed to have. His class wasn't hard nor was the material tedious; he chose the right material to challenge us without making it seem like it was a challenge. He truly cared that we all succeeded and never in a condescending way.

Opening up that email brought back all those lovely memories of his courses and what a great professor he was. I decided to look him up -- to see if he was still teaching -- when I encountered news I wasn't expecting: Mr. Lowell Habel had passed away on May 27, 2015, only 3 days before my 30th birthday. I teared up. In fact, I'm still tearing up as I type this out. It's been almost 2 years since his passing but the news is fresh to me.

I'm going to take this opportunity to not only say what a great human being he was but also to remind everyone how little acts can change and inspire us for the best. Mr. Habel cared deeply for his students. I saw it in the three semesters I was his student. He was kind, funny (oh, those jokes...), and he tried to help us with things that were even outside of the material/course he was teaching. 12+ years after I took my first course with him, his optimism and encouragement still resonate with me. I wonder if he knew how many students he helped. Most of us begin college worried about doing well and he was the professor who helped make that transition easier for me. In fact, he made me feel like I was competent enough to not only do well and succeed in college but beyond, whatever career path I would choose.

I'm about to pray the Rosary and the chaplet of Divine Mercy (it's the 3 o'clock hour, as I type this, in L.A.). I will remember him in my prayers and will also make sure that I try to honor his memory by being encouraging to others like he had been to all of us.

Rest in peace, Mr. Habel... and thank you for everything.

Belated Revelations

After our last young adult meeting last month, my friend Joe, another group member (whom I'll call E), and I were on our way to drop off E at his house. Since it was a bit of a drive, I took the time to share with E how I still don't drive long distances because of the car accident I had on October 13, 2015. With my lightheadedness, I don't want to risk driving long distances by myself especially at night. I showed him pictures of the accident (which I had on my iPod touch) and we talked about how it seemed to trigger events that eventually made us leave our (then) home parish and switch to where we currently attend Mass. He said something that has stayed with me, a month later, and which I think I've finally figured out: "what do you think was the message from God from that accident?" (I'm paraphrasing.)

To be honest, I never meditated on it. I had the car accident, thought my guardian angel had really helped me out (which was also the same thought E had without me saying anything) and was grateful that it hadn't been worse. When E asked me what message I thought God was trying to get across, I drew a blank. 

"I don't know," I admitted. "I never really thought about it."

"Well, maybe you should. I think God was trying to tell you something. I don't think these things happen; things happen for a reason and perhaps He was trying to say something. Otherwise, it was just an accident that you learned nothing from," he stated. Again, I'm paraphrasing but that was the gist of it and probably the closest I can get to his actual wording.

It stuck with me, especially since we talked about the coincidences. I had the car accident right after I'd gotten out of spiritual direction with my (now former) spiritual director. It happened on the anniversary of the Miracle of the Sun. That was also the night that I first got into contact with an FSSP priests who came over the follow day (for a blessing) and who we still see (he even came to bless our home this past Epiphany). The following month, my spiritual director kicked me out of his office and that set into motion us leaving that parish and following the FSSP priest to his (temporary) parish. (side note: everyone who knows the full story has come to the same conclusion of why I was kicked out of my former SD's office on their own but since none of us know for sure, I won't discuss it.) That led to me re-evaluating things, me joining the young adult group I'm in, and has had an overall positive change in both of our (Mom's and my) lives. There was something that seemed to be missing from that puzzle but it took E's question for me to try to figure it out... and I think I have. 

It has dawned on me that I have gotten a much-needed second chance to make things right. I had the same thought when I went to the last doctor's appointment: "you're getting a second chance." See, I had reached a plateau in my spiritual direction before my accident. I felt as if I wasn't getting much out of them anymore. Furthermore, while my SD expressed his justified dissatisfaction with me for missing Mass or my prayer time in order to do coursework on a tight deadline (yeah, that was a massive problem I had when I was in grad school; one of which I have since worked on and fixed), it wasn't the massive ear pulling I needed. I feel like the car accident was that; an ear pulling and a sort of wake-up call that I've belatedly realized.

Yes, it's been almost a year and a half since the car accident. Yes, I've wasted so much time trying to figure things out. However, I'm very grateful to E for having me meditate on all of these things. Remember when I wrote about my body being weak but my heart being on fire? I think part of why I felt that way was because of this revelation. Today's health scare (I thought I was having a heart attack at the grocery store; we guessed that it was a combination of acid reflux and a bad panic attack -- my first in a long time -- that hit at the same time) just drove the point home even more: I have gotten a second chance and I need to make the most of it... which, really, is a wonderful message during Lent.

How many times did saints mess up and, still, they were forgiven, they amended their lives, and are now spending eternity with God in Heaven? God's mercy is greater than our sins... no matter how bad they are. I know (as seen through Scripture) that He wants us to repent and return to Him. Luke 15:11-32, anyone? I was able to fix my terrible priorities (now Mass comes before any exam or coursework I may have that weekend). I think I've figured out the path (for both big and little v vocations) God wants me to take and have made a lot of progress in them. Now to reorder and fix a couple more things in my life, especially when it comes to facing my fears. I've started work on that but it's still going to be a massive uphill battle for me since it's going to mean undoing years of bad habits and negative thoughts. What a better way to spend my Lent (and the weeks leading up to the 100th anniversary of Our Lady of Fatima) than to work on my relationship with God and making the most of my second chance?

Before I end this blog post, I have one more thing to share: in case you're wondering, no Mass again this past weekend. We wanted to try for Saturday but I got sick and then Sunday was a mess as well. That's officially 8 Sundays without Mass (though I have attended Mass at least twice -- during the week -- in the past 8 weeks). Still, I'm going to try again and I'll fight through the lightheadedness and other obstacles to the best of my abilities. We have a plan for this week and the weekend and any prayers you can offer up so that we can get to confession and Mass would be greatly appreciated.

Alright, that's enough for today. I have more to share but they're different topics so I'll just break them into different posts. I'm taking it easy today since I've had a busy couple of days so I may write more blog posts now and schedule for later in the week. I have a big exam this weekend, a research paper due next week, and another huge exam the week after that so I'm going to try to blog when I can and schedule them so that there aren't big gaps in between blog posts. :)

I hope y'all are having a lovely start of the week! :D

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

"But, Emmy... it's Lent!" Oops?

*sings along to some of my favorite songs.*

"Emmy, you can't do that! It's Lent!"

*dances around the living room or bedroom as a form of exercise."

"You can't do that, either! It's Lent!"

Oops?

I've been feeling really great the last 2-3 days so I've been singing and dancing... and twirling around in skirts and dresses since it's been summer-weather hot lately. I have a little more color in my cheeks (hello, rosy-hue I've missed) and I've been able to dance and have hour-long walks without problems. I think it's been the combo of whatever was working against me wearing off as well as the change in my diet and exercise regime. I even woke up 2 hours earlier than usual yesterday and today... on my own. I was feeling gratitude for the upswing and then... "But, Emmy... it's Lent!"

Yes, I know it's Lent. Yes, I know it's a penitential season. Um, hi. Have you read my blog posts since Lent has begun? I'm very well aware what this season is about. Still, I didn't really think that I couldn't feel happy about the change in things. I didn't know that my form of exercise (usually dancing, walking, or hiking; mostly dancing and walking when I can't get to a local mountain range) was prohibited because it was Lent. I didn't know I wasn't allowed to sing. Oops?

I usually field these questions on social media because it's the way to get quicker and more responses but I'm abstaining from social media so here's my question for those who may know more about it than I do: are singing and dancing not allowed during Lent?

Like I said, I'm aware that this is a season of penance and thinking about Christ's suffering and death. I've been praying the Sorrowful Mysteries every day except Sundays during Lent. I've been watching the daily Mass on EWTN or, at least, reading the daily readings and meditating on them. I know there shouldn't be much celebrating but... I didn't know I had to be only quiet and solemn the 40 days of Lent. If I've been doing something I shouldn't be doing, someone please correct me.

Anyway, I just wanted to put this question out there. Someone, please, let me know if that's just a scrupulous POV or if I really need to tone down my singing and dancing. I get why it's not the best idea but I also wonder if it's taking it too far. In fact, I keep thinking about this meme:

Just, help a sister out. OH! And, for the friends who've emailed me and texted me with concern after reading the latest blog posts, you can FaceTime me or ask for proof that I'm not as sick as you might think. I'll be okay. No worries, my dears. :D
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And now back to working on my research paper. ;)

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