A Month of Letters: InCoWriMo review

Anyone who follows me on here, or on Facebook and Instagram, knows that I have participated in the International Correspondence Writing Month during the month of February. What this entails is basically writing a letter each day during the month of February. That’s it: just write the letter. 

I decided that this year, I would participate partially because one of my New Year’s goals last year was to write more letters. I did it, but “more” was basically like, “Oh look, I wrote ten letters over the course of twelve months.” So, I decided that 29 letters in 29 days sounded like a good challenge. I wasn’t sure I would make it, but I thought I would try. Well, it turns out that I did it.

He might not be the hero Gotham needs, but he's the stamp I needed for this project! My post person probably thought I was crazy with the amount of letters I was mailing out. 

For the entire month of February, I sent out, on average, one letter every day. Sometimes I had to write five or six to make up for missing, but I got it done. Sometimes it was a struggle to think of what to say or who to write to, but over the course of the month I kind of figured it out. At the beginning, some of my cards or letters felt awkward or forced, but I think that by the end they just started to flow.

I have a few tips for people who are interested in participating in the future: 

First of all, the best thing I did was print out a calendar and write down the names of people I wanted to send letters to. Some were birthday cards, some were letters to dear friends, and some were letters to complete strangers that I found on the Pen Addict InCoWriMo list (there’s nothing like writing to other people who will appreciate your love for fountain pens).

Another great tip for finishing InCoWriMo is to promise yourself that the letter doesn’t have to be long. While I can always go on for pages when writing to certain friends (that would be you, Daniel Orazio), sometimes I have a hard time thinking of precisely what to say to family members or older friends who might not really care about what’s going on at UNT or how startlingly beautiful the sky is today. The point is to send a letter, not a novel.

Lastly, if you have trouble thinking of who to write to, check out the organization The World Needs More Love Letters. Each month, they send out a list of people going through a rough time who need to receive love letters. It’s kind of fun sending these strangers messages of hope—and frequently, it brings me peace because I can relate to part of their struggle and it helps to do something. Check it out!

Here are some of the letters I sent out to TWNMLL. 

All in all, I’m so glad that I participated in InCoWriMo. I’m trying to continue my letter writing, so if you want to be a pen pal, just let me know. If you receive a random letter or card in the mail from me, know it’s not me being weird. I just love writing letters and I think most people love receiving mail. It goes well together. 

2014: A Year in Review

I came home tonight from an afternoon and evening spent with my best friend in Dallas, Mark, cherishing time together and reflecting over the last (couple of) years, the things that have changed, the things that are the same, and how we feel about a number of different things. When I got home, I found numerous Christmas cards filled with letters from friends, updating me on their lives. I don’t usually send those kinds of cards and I’m writing this blog in place of that.

Every New Year’s, I spend time in reflection over the last year and thinking about where I want to go in the new year. Since last year, I have added using Leonie Dawson’s amazing books to my New Year’s retreat (thanks, Hannah Bagnall, for introducing me to that!). The time in reflection is good for me. Usually, I keep that private, but this year so many things have happened and changed that I want to share some of them with my friends.

This time last year, I was actually in Irving, visiting dear friends and family over my Christmas break. I knew then what I had told very few people, that I would probably be leaving Indianapolis. I had just finished my application to UNT and after such precious time with loved ones, I found myself praying that I would end up at UNT over any of the other places I had applied to.

My last semester at Butler was complicated, but beautiful. I enjoyed a Nun Night where my beloved sisters came to visit my girls and we played board games. I took several students to the Woods for Alternative Spring Break to work at the White Violet Center for Eco-Justice (where I lived as a volunteer for five months in 2013 while preparing for my exams at Notre Dame) and they fell in love so much that we went back for the Earth Day celebrations. I told Father that I would be leaving Indiana and I faced his disappointment. I told my students that I was leaving and my heart ached as I watched some of them grieve. I dealt with the frustration of working with the Archdiocese to find my replacement—they were slow to move and Father and I lived in fear that the community we had built would be left without support. I was included in interviews and listened to students talk about their fears for the future. It was a true practice in humility and detachment, and I am grateful for the growing experience of leaving a ministry that I continue to love and miss very much.

I know some have heard me talk about the negative aspects of my ministry at Butler and I want to take the chance to explain some of that. If you already know all this or simply don’t care about why I left Butler, you can skip the next few paragraphs.  While there were many parts of my life in Indianapolis that I hated, my students were never one of them. I loved them immensely and continue to love them and pray for them, but I am glad to know that they are under the wings of someone much more suited to that life than I am right now. In Indianapolis, I struggled to make friends because of my crazy ministry schedule, my need for introvert time with an extremely extroverted job, and my inability to find many people outside of my sisters and friends from Echo that had similar interests. I am infinitely grateful for the friends I did have—my sisters, friends from Echo, and ministry friends at Butler as well as St. Thomas Aquinas Parish. I never could have made it through that last year without them—and not only did I survive, I enjoyed moments of great happiness. Please do not think I lived my whole time there miserable and alone in the world.

My last year in Indianapolis, I lived alone. That was a great decision, because I was coming out of a very negative and hurtful community experience and needed space to heal. Sometimes I was lonely, but fortunately I had the community of the Retreat in Daily Life that I was participating through Providence Center at St. Mary of the  Woods (which included two sisters, one who is 92(!), and two other young women about my age). My friend Annie, who was brave enough to embark on this 30 week retreat with me, would come to my office and together we would skype the other women. I treasured the time we would spend after the meeting, talking and dreaming together.

The diocese of Indianapolis, while it succeeds with some social justice issues and the larger parishes work to address poverty, is an overwhelmingly conservative diocese. Because every person who works for the diocese signs a paper stating that we will not “promote or support any ideas contrary to Church teaching,” I found it hard to be myself and be open, even with my friends outside of the office. My first two years in Indianapolis, I lived in fear of my community because the members of my community had expressed disapproval of my spirituality (including not only my prayer style, but my relationship with the Sisters of Providence) and “concern for my soul” on a regular basis. My last year, I lived in fear because if someone took something I said offhand and reported it to the diocese I could lose my job and have no recourse. So, when I wasn’t with my sisters or the limited number of friends that I felt completely at home with, I was generally living with a mask. I loved my students and I enjoyed and appreciated my ministry friends, but I needed something else to add stability to my life. I am an introvert and can thrive on my own, but I am also a community-centered person. While loneliness is an inherent part of the human condition, it was the degree of my loneliness (and the depression I started to experience) that made me realize I needed to make a change. Added to this was the added strain of maintaining my diocese-approved mask, which made me feel like I was being dishonest and lacking integrity.

It wasn’t all like that, though. During my time in Indianapolis, my sisters were my saving grace. Their support and love through my times of confusion and pain were my source of strength. Their constant reminder to trust in Providence and meet with people where they are (as Jesus did), made me a better minister, person, and friend. In answer to the ever-popular question, yes, I have on many occasions thought about applying to become a Sister of Providence. I love being an associate and my relationship to that community is the most important in my life. The idea of growing old with my friends, living in community, and taking on a greater role in the community I love so dearly is certainly appealing. However, student loans and a predisposition to need autonomy (I would struggle greatly with a vow of obedience at this point in my life—we will all see what comes in the future) made it evident that path is not right for me, at least now.  I am not certain it will ever be my path, but only time will tell. I am happy with my life.

At the same time as my loneliness and frustrations were becoming evident to me, I realized something else. With the distance that a year without study (if you ignore the comprehensive exams I took in July 2013, as I did for almost the entire year before I took them) could provide, I realized that I missed being in school. I spent a lot of time in reflection about what I would want to study if I went back. I knew that I didn’t want to deal with another Classics department—I had heard too many stories about the cutthroat attitude in upper-level classics. Besides that, I would only really want to study Greek, but most programs require study of Latin as well. I also knew that theology is not for me. My experience of God is more relational and spiritual than rule based and, after my experiences at Notre Dame, I didn’t want to deal with theology people. This is not to say that I disrespect Theology or people who study it. On the contrary, one of my dear friends in Dallas is a theology professor and I have a lot of friends who are doing continued theology work. I just knew I didn’t have the patience or proper disposition for further study in Theology. I considered a D Min or a PhD in Spirituality, but knew that I would likely encounter the same issues as I did in ministry. I also considered simply applying for another ministry position (and did so), but I came to realize that I need time away from ministry and theology to heal and get myself together. I believe wholeheartedly that I will someday end up back in ministry for the Catholic Church—but I need time.

When I thought about it, I realized that the only thing I could really see myself teaching long term (and as my friend Greg Roper says, a PhD is just vocational school for teaching) is literature. After being prompted from my friend and mentor, Dr. Sommerfeldt, to consider my deepest passions, I realized that what I would really love is to study agrarian literature (think literature about farming and farm culture—The Georgics, Wendell Berry, Faulkner, that sort of stuff). I wasn’t sure that agrarian literature was actually a thing, but I quickly found that environmental literature, which includes agrarian literature and can include literature of the American South, was in fact something one can get a PhD in. And, miracle of miracles, the University of North Texas, only 40 minutes from my community of friends and family back in Irving, offers such a degree.

So, back to 2014. In March of 2014, I received the hoped-for acceptance letter to UNT along with an offer of a fellowship to teach two freshman comp courses each semester. I walked home, my heart pounding, and shared the news with my next door neighbors—the only people at Butler I could really tell until I formally resigned. After discernment and talking it over with my mom, my best friend, and my sisters, I sent back my response: an overwhelming YES.

While on ASB at the Woods, two different sisters let it slip in front of my students that I would be leaving Butler, but the official announcement was saved for April. By that time, most of my (very astute) students had already figured out that I was leaving. Some shed tears, others tried to hide their relief (hey, I never said I was popular with all of them!). All in all, they were supportive. Some even said they wished they could be in my classes.

I left Butler in June and packed up my house, which I had hoped to be living in long term and therefore had brought a lot of childhood mementos and things. My mom and a friend moved my belongings to Missouri while I drove to the Woods. As I drove onto the campus of Saint Mary of the Woods, I felt a huge weight leave my shoulders. I rested with my sisters and enjoyed our Annual meeting. I witnessed my dear friend Arrianne take her first vows and reminisced about how I had met her at a “Come and See” weekend before she even entered. I cherished time with my best friend, Hannah, and was grateful as my sisters, who were sad that I was moving so far away, were also supportive, happy, and excited for me. After the Annual Meeting was over, I left the Woods and drove to Missouri, where I spent an entire month anxious about this big step I had taken. I almost backed out of moving to Denton several times, but fortunately where I lost faith I had friends and family who had enough faith for two. (Besides that, where else would I go?)

I had searched for a roommate or place to live for a couple months while still at Butler and was relieved when a guy in UNT’s Environmental Philosophy PhD program asked me to move in with him. My students obsessively stalked him online (sorry Fabio) and my mother worried about her daughter moving in with a complete stranger. It turns out that her worries were in vain, because Fabio is wonderful and is literally the best roommate I have ever had (no joke). Our problems have been very few and I consider myself blessed. It was truly Providence that we got connected. I’m so grateful. I am also grateful that when I arrived at our tiny little house in August, my family (the Parent/Ponikiewskis) and my bestie, Mark, showed up to unload my car and my mom’s car.  My car was full and my mom’s car had traveled from Rolla, Missouri to Denton, Texas with my bed and mattress strapped to the roof (something I will never do again and don’t recommend). Mark, Mark, and Trevor quickly unloaded, Patty hung up hangers and clothes, Rachel helped everyone, and Randi mostly entertained us with Ranger, her dog (which was more important and necessary than you might think). I don’t know what we would have done without them. My mom stayed with me long enough to help me unpack and shop for the random things I needed. Then, she left and I became a UNT student for real.

Since I moved in, the last six months have been a blur. I went to Orientation with the English department, where I made my first set of friends at UNT. I settled into my desk in the Teaching Fellow office and got into a rhythm of going to class, teaching, grading, and studying. I have found that the people in the English Department are awesome, really without exception. I enjoy the friendly banter in the office and hope to continue to develop friendships with many of the other TFs, PhD candidates, and MA students.

I started going to Mass at UD after I found that the local parish wasn’t comfortable (it’s really big). It turns out that, for me at least, going to Mass at UD includes sitting with the Sommerfeldts, weekly hugs from Dr. Norris, and regular lunches with Anna, Andrew, Joe, and Irene. So, for the few people who would care enough to judge me for going to Mass at my undergrad instead of making a local parish my home, you’re doing it wrong. Be jealous instead.

I spend a lot of time with my UD friends and family, while still getting to develop a community at UNT, and having time alone. I am finding a balance, or as much of a balance as anyone can have.

This year I also started SpiritualUprising Magazine and UP Ministries with Molly and we’ve kept it going through our transitions. This semester I started the habit of walking daily, joined the Tone It Up nutrition plan, walked a 5K, taught my first semester of classes, wrote 2 twenty page papers and cited the Sisters of Providence in both of them, watched multiple movies and spent time with friends, and so many other wonderful things. It’s been a great semester and a great year. Things aren’t perfect—I’ve had bronchitis for 2 months and am still relatively sick, my uncle was just diagnosed with leukemia, and my dad’s health continues to go back and forth. I've struggled to find time to write and do things I want to do and at the beginning of my time in Denton, I was still trying to shake the issues from Indy. But, through it all, I have had people who love me. I had a friend wiling to drive me to the ER when my fever hit 104 and bring me food while I was recovering. I had professors who were supportive and understanding. I have a roof over my head. I am blessed with the opportunity to continue my education and teach truly wonderful college kids, which is more like ministry than you would think. I come home to a roommate who doesn’t steal from, judge, or demean me.

I am happy.  

I hope that you and yours are, too.

Merry Christmas and Happy 2015.

A Quarter of a Century

Written on January 15, 2014

Well… today is the day.

It’s been a quarter century in the making.

25 years ago today, my mom was in the hospital and a very wonderful doctor was fighting to save her life and mine. 25 years ago today, that doctor told my dad that he would take home either a baby or a wife, but not both. And, most importantly, 25 years ago today, my mom and I, with help from the doctor and from God, proved that doctor wrong.

The realization that I am turning 25 has been hitting me slowly for a few weeks now. I’m not the kind of girl to worry about age—I kind of like that my age is slowly increasing, giving some sort of proof that common sense and experience have been my reward for walking the paths life has given me. But this year is different.

When I was younger, I always imagined that at 25, I would have a husband, a couple kids, a life with some sort of stability. I’m struggling with the temptation to be disappointed in myself. I am not where I wanted to be, or even where I want to be. I don’t have a husband, or even a significant other to walk through life with. I do, however, have literally a hundred amazing friends who give my life fullness and meaning, but almost all of them are far, far away from the city I live in (and I thank God for the ones who are closer—Annie, Arrianne, Patty, Dina, Meli, and Hannah, though you’re still not close enough!… I am grateful for you all and the wonderful flavor you give to my life). I don’t have any kids, but I have beautiful baby cousins, “nieces” and “nephews” that I borrow, and almost 200 college kids who lovingly call me their Mama Duck. I don’t have a job that I want to have for a long time (or even, really, for more than another year) and that probably adds to the feeling of discontent that I have felt rising slowly inside of me.

A wise friend recently told me that when her daughter was small she was very fussy all of the sudden and the pediatrician told her that meant her daughter was getting ready for a transition—in her case, a transition into crawling. Sometimes, just like when we were children, we start feeling fussy, a sort of discontent, and it is God’s way of showing us that we are preparing in our hearts for a new transition, a new path.

So, here I am at 25, searching. As a kid, the only thing I wanted to be when I grew up was a mom and a writer. A decade later, the draw to write, to create, has been stirring in my bones. I long to read, to research, to teach, to do some work in literature. I have applied to two PhD programs and I can only pray that against hope that I will be accepted, given funding, and can be able to pursue the dreams that I have had from childhood.

So, today… today, on my 25th birthday, I spent the day fighting anxiety and stress. Work has come back in full swing and I feel myself falling more and more behind, even though I’ve been at work for only two days this semester and surely, I can’t already be behind? But it is the nature of ministry that you fall behind, that students come and want or need to talk, that coworkers bless you with friendship and conversation, that God somehow breaks into your to-do list and brings life along with him. Today, in the midst of this, I keep thinking about my failed expectations and dwelling on how extraordinarily lonely life has become. I am fighting off the winter blues combined with something deeper, something at the heart of my being that involves questions of self-worth and quests for meaning—things that I am supposed to be leading students through, not struggling with myself (although isn’t that how ministry always is?). The realization that I am now 25 and still have not lived up to the dreams I had five years ago at the beginning of college certainly do not help this situation, as I’m sure friends can understand. I know I’m not the only one feeling this—it seems to be an epidemic among my friends from college and other friends besides. But usually, usually I am able to fight it off and that it hit me today of all days, bothers the heck out of me.

Fortunately, I don’t really have time to sit and stew. And, if I did, I would still have the consolation of friends who love me. I was surprised today with a bouquet of flowers from one of my best friends from college who lives on the east coast and text messages from some of my favorite people in the world. That other people remember my birthday means a lot, I’m really big on other people’s birthdays and it’s nice to have that repaid (although, not the point).

Anyways, all this discontent has to be dealt with somehow and I am dealing with it by making a deal with myself: 25 is going to be my best year so far. C.S. Lewis says, “There are far, far greater things ahead than anything we leave behind.” I’m going to take him at his word and make this year the best ever. My friend Hannah (another one, I know, I have FOUR Hannahs in my life… and they are ALL AMAZING) recommended a book called Create Your Amazing Year and I am using that, along with a subscription to Wild Sister magazine (my birthday gift to myself), to motivate me and guide me this year. I’ve watched several friends defeat this mid-twenties depression recently by making a conscious effort to do what they need to do to be healthy and happy. I’m hoping to follow in these women’s footsteps. This year is going to be a good year.

Oh, and a note: I DID  celebrate my birthday. My friends Annie and Arrianne as well as a student went with me to see Frozen in theaters. Annie and Arrianne went for ice cream with me after. It was a great night and I am so grateful for the wonderful women in my life.

Some thoughts on 2013

I am sitting alone in a friend’s house writing this. I spent the last few days in Dallas, visiting with friends and family and letting my spirit renew itself. Tomorrow morning, New Year’s Day, I will drive the ten hours back to Rolla just in time to accompany my mother to the doctor’s office (nothing major).

I haven’t taken the time to process yet what I want 2014 to be, but I know that I want it to be BIG. I have so much that I want to accomplish: things to do, projects to finish, books to read, stories to write, and places to go. I know that New Year resolutions are often forgotten by the first week of February, but I am determined to get some things done. It’s time to live my dreams.

2013 wasn’t the worst year, though. I got a promotion and became the Director of the Butler Catholic Community. I finished my MA and graduated from Notre Dame. I interned at the White Violet Center and experienced true healing in my intern community while living with my sisters for a month. I finally became a Providence Associate. I applied for PhD programs, visited Dallas twice, KC once, saw friends who I had long missed, and met a new baby cousin (Teytin). I even started my own Etsy page.

Probably the most extraordinary thing about 2013 is that even though I was given abundant blessings, I know that I was most often unhappy—and seemingly for no reason. But instead of being sad because of depression or grief, I think that I was uncomfortable and felt myself becoming more and more aware that I am not where God wants me to be. And here I am, leaping again into transition.

For those who know me best, you already know that I don’t really make NY Resolutions and instead do these things on my birthday (Jan 15), so for now I will just share this request: please pray for me. I don’t do well in transitions and I think this will be a big year. Only God knows what 2014 will bring.

In love with Autumn

I usually hate it when people ask me what my favorite season is—after all, each one is really beautiful and special and has amazing things that happen. Yet I will entrust my readers with this secret: my favorite season is undoubtedly autumn. I love it all: the colors, the smells, the food (I will eat

anything

pumpkin!), and the clothes—I love sweaters and scarves and jackets and boots! It’s just the best season: not too cold, not too warm. As a kid, I loved it even more because it meant school was starting (and I got to go back to school shopping—I LOVE OFFICE SUPPLIES!). Now, I love fall also because it brings my duckies back to me and I get to be a campus minister again.

Bringing Fall into my House!

In Dallas, I never really got to appreciate fall. Only some trees changed—mostly it was just green (if we had rain) or dull brown (if not). My first year in Indianapolis, I walked around that whole season in a daze. While I certainly complained about how cold it was (seriously, it was Dallas Christmas weather in September—and still is), I was also marveling at the colors. I remember one day, I actually called my mom because I just could not contain my joy at the colors. All the hues: bright orange, burnt orange, yellow, gold, red… it’s all so beautiful!

Somehow—and I’m not sure how—I forgot all of this recently. I’ve been so busy and exhausted that I actually forgot that God, my favorite artist, was getting ready to bring out again my favorite of all his art shows. And, as usual, I have the sisters of Providence to thank for re-awakening me to my joy.

So, as you might have noticed, I am going to interrupt my re-telling of this past summer to update you about the now. I would never want anyone to think that my only joy came from living in the past. 

This weekend (Friday and Saturday) was my first actual “weekend” since the students got back. They’ve been in classes for a full month now and today (Saturday) is only my third day off in all that time (I’ll probably post this Sunday—I’m writing from home and don’t have internet here at my house). I’ve been busy and while I love my job, I have realized that if I don’t force myself to take time off, not only will I never write for this blog, but I will also soon be committed in an institution or hospitalized. I’ve been “running myself ragged,” as a coworker pointed out two days ago. I’ve become my least favorite kind of person in the world—a workaholic. It’s a bad habit, but at least I come by it honestly (thank you, Willys and Ponzers).

But, I have managed to have some fun and rest in the midst of it.

Last weekend, my best friend came to town: S. Hannah Corbin (not to be confused with my other best friend Hannah, Hannah Mugel—who is living a rather fabulous life in Brazil right now). We spent parts of a wonderful weekend together, broken up by a trip to Chicago on Saturday for her and a full day’s work on Saturday for me (but Friday was my FIRST full day off since the kids got back, so yay for that!). Last Friday we spent the day doing all kinds of glorious things— mostly cooking (because when you get two gluten free people together, what else will they do but revel in food? Besides, Hannah is an AMAZING cook). We made granola, gluten free brownies, Edamame salad, and lots of other yummies (the Edamame was with the other girls that evening). Our friends (and sisters) Patty and Arrianne came over and we walked through the woods on campus, then Patty left and our friend Tracey came over, and we basically spent an evening together enjoying what must definitely be a foretaste of heaven—both the company and the food. Our conversations ranged from discussing potential solutions to problems some of us are facing to solving all the world’s problems (the solutions are love and peace for all of creation—you’re welcome). Every time I’m with Arrianne, Tracey, and Hannah (all together or just a couple of us), I am both encouraged and challenged to be a better person, to be more whole, more open, more loving. These women truly make me want to be a better human being—and I think that slowly they’re also helping me become one! Through them, God is truly molding me into a “more loving and human shape” as the prayer goes. I’ll write a lot later about the times we had together this summer, too, but Friday evening last weekend was exactly what the had doctor ordered for me as a cure for the blues and exhaustion I’ve been experiencing. There’s nothing like being loved to make you feel better about life in general!

So, that was last weekend. And I can tell you, I felt like a new person going back to work—and I hope that I was a better minister for it.

This weekend I got to experience even more blessings! I went to the Woods for the first time since I moved back (unless you count the two hour stop my dad and I made back in August to go to the book fair, but I didn’t get to see very many people that time and I didn’t get to stay or relax). It was just so nice to be home and talk with Dawn and discuss my upcoming Associates Commitment, as well as seeing many of my wonderful sisters (and a hug from Sister Denise!). I even got to hang out with Robyn from the White Violet Center (see two posts ago…)!!

Friday afternoon, Dawn and I had a great meeting and chat and then we went to the Fall Equinox prayer service to welcome in fall. I have to say, that hour or so of prayer was really helpful for me to reorient me towards gratefulness. I was able to re-focus myself and see all the wonderful things around me. I loved hearing the wisdom from the older sisters, sharing their own gratefulness. At the beginning of the service, we were all called to “throw the circle” as the Celts would, only instead of drawing a circle around us, we each introduced ourselves and named one thing we loved about fall. Almost everyone mentioned the colors, which reminded me of what an artistic community it is that I have become associated with. But there were  two sisters who brought up the science of the color change in leaves and I learned something new—that the colors have always been there, they were just covered by the green chloroplasts. When the chloroplasts die, the other colors are able to shine vibrantly. One of the sisters said in turn that if we allow our own chloroplasts to die, something even more beautiful can come forward. There is something so wonderful about being with a group of women of varying ages, some of whom are much older and closer to God than I, and hear their wisdom and their world view—more challenging, more encouragement.

At the end of the service, Sister Mo invited each of us to take one of the small pumpkins or gourds from the center table and to offer a prayer of thankfulness. One of my very favorite sisters came forward first and she picked a sweet little pumpkin then sat back down to give her prayer of thanks. Her words were beautiful, thanking God for the beauty of “this little creature,” her little pumpkin. I cannot capture any more of her beautiful words, but I remember too well how sweet and how gentle her prayer of thanks was—more “childlike” in the Gospel sense than any child. This sister in particular always reminds me to be grateful for little things. She’s the same sister who would leave the comic strips outside my door when I lived in the convent. She loves to make people smile and feel special—even little pumpkins.

After such a special day, I was sad this morning to leave the Woods. I’ve grown accustomed to a few tears joining me as I drive back through Terre Haute, down 65 and towards Indianapolis. But today, I was able to redirect my thoughts and bring back my gratefulness from last night, thinking of my next great adventure: a new community!

Today was the first meeting of my Providence Circle, and while our numbers were lower than expected, we still had a wonderful time (one of our members is traveling in Ireland—lucky duck!—and another had a death in the family—please pray for her and her friends/family). We didn’t spend much time talking about the book we’re discussing, but we talked about everything else! It was just so wonderful to have the support and fellowship of the two women that I was blessed to be with. I can already tell that they are going to be a huge blessing in my life—in fact, I think that they already are. Each of us are in a situation where it’s difficult to find community where we are and I hope that each of us can find community in this circle.

To bring the weekend full circle, I dropped by the store on my way home and while I was there, I noticed that there was a display of fall-scented candles. Now my house smells like fall. With my own little pumpkin, it is bringing my favorite season inside my little house and keeping me company (see picture above).

I’m also working diligently on my projects for the Oktoberfest in Rolla (in two weeks!): crocheted saint dolls. Right now, I have St. Francis of Assisi and Joan of Arc hanging out in my living room. Hopefully, they will soon be joined by St. Patrick, St. Kateri, and OL Guadalupe. I’m also going to try and have some Pope Fracis dolls and a few plain priest dolls (nuns are complicated, but I’m working on a St. Mother Theodore doll—it’s hard to get the habit just right). So, if you’re in Rolla and come to the Oktoberfest, check us out. If it goes well, I’m going to start an etsy shop. Heaven knows I need some extra income with the paycheck I get working in ministry, especially when you figure in those loans I need to be paying off.

St. Francis of Assisi

St. Joan of Arc (with removable sword!)

And, just so that you all don’t think I hate my job: I am loving having my students back and meeting the new freshmen. Women’s Ministry continues to be my favorite program in the BCC—I think it is truly where the women find their own community, their own safe place to be accepted. Our new program—Sol (Saints for Our Lives)—is also going well. And, I am also enjoying working with so many great people—the other campus ministers, mostly, but also a couple people from the Archdiocese who, when they’re not making things difficult for the sake of bureaucracy, are actually really fun to be around.

All in all, things are busy (sorry for the unreturned or long-owed calls, friends), but they are GOOD. And all the discernment I am doing about next year has absolutely nothing to do with how much I do or do not love my job, because I L-O-V-E it. Truly.

More about that later.

Back to last summer…

Away from the Manor and into the Woods

Away from the Manor and into the Woods

So, I realize that other than book-related blogs, I haven’t actually written since last semester. There is SO MUCH to update you all on (if you care—I’m still not really sure who reads this). But, because I know it is a fruitful practice for me to reflect and look back, I will try and update you as best as I can.

Last semester ended quickly, filled with work. Once the students left, I was still working every day (usually on my days off, too) to get ready for the new year. Half of my energy was going into getting ready for my first year as director and the other half was going into studying for my comprehensive exams for my MA at Notre Dame. Hence, I didn’t have much energy left for blogging, personal relationships, or anything else for that matter. Then, at the very end, as I was packing my belongings and preparing to move to the Woods, I got so sick that I couldn’t get out of bed for two days. I was dizzy when I stood up and had no energy, no matter how much I slept. Other than sleeping, watching Buffy, and stumbling to the bathroom, I wasn’t up for much—and still, I had to drive myself to the doctor because no one else would. I will say, I was very grateful for the order of fries that one housemate brought home for me. At least I had something in my system.

Finally, during that potentially dangerous doctor’s visit, I found out that it was really just a seriously awful sinus infection (those still bother me frequently) and I got some heavy-duty antibiotics to chase away the yucky. I barely got well in time to pack up and move out. Also, as a result, I probably had significantly more boxes packed way worse than they would have been otherwise because I couldn’t lift anything very heavy. Looking back, I’m really not sure why I didn’t just call one of my many students who were still in town and ask for some help.

Finally, on the penultimate Friday in May, Ι loaded the few things I needed for my summer at the Woods into my car and, leaving the rest in storage at the Churchman house, drove to Terre Haute. I left unceremoniously, without goodbyes from at least half of my housemates, feeling rather morose.  Although it is a short drive to Terre Haute from the south side of Indy, it seemed even shorter because I was so emotional. I certainly did not help that I had been in such a rush to leave that I arrived almost two hours early.

I ended up eating lunch with the other interns—who from this point on will be referred to as my community. Before I even begin to talk about the experience of living at St. Mary of the Woods and working at the White Violet Center for Eco-Justice, I feel the need to say that, although it was only for five weeks, I think that the community I lived with there was so much closer, deeper, more peaceful, and more accepting than any other community experience I have ever had to this point in my life. My dear friends, if you read this, I am so grateful for the healing love that you showered on me. You are some of the best people that I know.

Shortly after I got unpacked and all settled in, the other new intern arrived—Rebecca, who was mentioned earlier in my reading update as one of my vegan community member.  The other vegan, Michael, was already there but was taking part in the Permaculture Course offered at SMW through IU (I really recommend this to anyone interested in that sort of thing). He joined us in the gardens a week later.

When I mention the gardens, I feel that I must clarify: we’re really not talking a garden. We’re talking about fields. All in all, the gardens that I worked in were about as large as the small field that sits next to my grandmother’s (now Sarah’s) house in Rolla—this will help my family members have some idea what I mean. There were several plots where we grew different wonderfully delicious and beautiful vegetables—chard, lettuce, carrots, kale, turnips, peas, and so much more! Every day, we would either harvest, plant, weed, or mulch. Many days, I would come back to the convent covered in dirt, so exhausted that I would peel off my overalls and have to lay down before I even got showered or dressed. I loved every minute of it.

Who wouldn't love to wake up and see this every day?

For those of you who are friends with me on facebook, you probably saw me write every day that I lived in a magical place. It really was magical. I could go to work, harvest some chard or a handful of peas or any of our other yummy veggies (and rarely, some berries), and get to eat them for dinner. We could have what we wanted from the “seconds”—the produce that for one reason or another (some sort of blemish or damage) wasn’t considered sellable. I think I ate better during those five weeks than the entire rest of my life. I learned to love things I had never tried before (or, never liked before), and it was wonderful. Like I said—magical.

In addition to eating well, I was learning to cook—not bake, cook. Always before, my version of cooking was usually pasta-related or making eggs. Rarely if ever did I actually cook. Now, that has changed. Oh yes, friends, I can now sort of cook (although I am still not to the level of my former “personal chef”—as he called himself—Patrick, nor am I nearly as talented or sure of myself as S. Hannah). And, I like what I cook (very important).

Chard-- my new favorite vegetable!!

When I wasn’t in the gardens working or in the kitchen cooking and eating, I was either in my room or the library studying or hanging out with my community and my sisters.

As a child, I longed for siblings—any siblings at all—but most especially, sisters. Now I have to say, if I had known that all those prayers to God asking for a sister would result in me having 300, not only would I still have prayed them, I might have prayed more. I love my sisters and I miss them every day. I think that much of the sadness (I say sadness because I don’t believe I’m actually depressed, just a little lonely) that I have experienced since I moved back to Indy is the result of not having those wonderful women around to love me (and for me to love back).

Not only was I blessed with the opportunity to deepen my close friendship my dear friend S. Arrianne and deepen my friendships with the other sisters who I already knew (especially my Sister Companion, Dawn), but I was able to form new friendships with the other sisters. I learned a lot about myself as a result and I also grew to have a deeper appreciation for the importance of a truly healthy community. Unlike other communities that I had been a part of, being part of the SP community as both an associate and an intern has helped me to realize my own value and my own gifts rather than only point out my flaws. Living at the Woods was, most of the time, like living inside of a hug—warm, loving, and gentle. On the occasions that it wasn’t, it was filled with learning experiences and kind, constructive criticism. I didn’t hear the word hell used once as a location that I might eventually end up in, nor did I find myself being told that I wasn’t ___ enough—Catholic enough, conservative enough, liberal enough, fun enough, welcoming enough, hospitable enough. We recognized each other’s gifts and each other’s weaknesses and endeavored to make ourselves better and to encourage everyone else. This was the case with both the sisters and my community as well as the other staff at the WVC.

I already said how amazing my community was. It was so good to arrive and find myself with such a variety of souls. First, there was Paul. Paul was like my big brother during my time at the WVC. He has this amazing spirit of gentleness and kindness, he is so generous with his time, his attention, and his strength. He lives a life of simplicity but is also one of the most intelligent people I have ever met—he knows so much about so many things. He also has a beautiful wife and daughter, both of whom I regret not getting to know better before leaving. Along with Paul, there was also Rusty, with whom I have had many wonderful conversations, both serious and comical, and whose friendship was an absolute treasure during my time at the Woods. We enjoyed watching movies, chatting in the fields during work, and just being in the same place with a like-minded soul. I appreciated both Paul and Rusty’s kindness so much during those five weeks—and their encouragement as I tried to study for my exams.

I have already mentioned Rebecca and Michael. Rebecca is a student at SMWC and is just phenomenal—I think that girl could take on the whole world if she wanted to. I loved talking with her, hearing her stories, and laughing with her. For the first several weeks, we also shopped together—along with Michael—and I enjoyed getting to know them both as we discussed food—an obvious passion in those who work in an organic garden! If Paul is the most intelligent person I know, Michael is in the running for being in possession of the greatest variety of talent that I know. He’s a musician, an artist, an entrepreneur, a farmer, a student—not because he is taking classes but because he is a student of life--,  very knowledgeable about a variety of things, and just a generally all-around great guy. I enjoyed every minute of getting to know him. Between both Michael and Rebecca, I learned a lot! I appreciate more than I can express how open both of them were to shared discussion and how non-judgmental they were about the things we don’t agree on.

In addition to those four, there was another intern—Bree, who arrived shortly after Michael. I must say that I think Bree rather brave. She has big dreams and is seeking out ways of achieving them. She has lived in many different communities and had many amazing volunteer experiences that I think have brought her to where she is now, an amazing woman with a great deal of wisdom yet still desiring to learn more. While I did not get to live in community with her (or Paul, for that matter), I think that Bree is very admirable and her presence was integral to our community.

There were also the staff members at the WVC—Candace, kind and dynamic and with awesome stories to tell, a great mom and an good boss, David, who reminds me more of my uncles than anyone else I have ever met (seriously, he should have been a Willy or a Ponzer!) and who always makes me laugh, Anne, generous and funny and amazing and who was and is a dear friend and who I miss terribly, Nick, who I only worked with a little but who I already know is a kind, generous soul who loves to learn, and Tracey, the alpaca manager, who I barely got to spend time with but who is highly intelligent and very kind—I also enjoy being an associate with her. Lastly, there are Sister Mo and Robyn, our fearless leaders who, even though I didn’t get to work with them very much, made my internship both more enjoyable and more educational. I also enjoyed building friendships with both of them. Sister Mo has a great sense of humor but is very down to earth and wise. Robyn is almost too much like me for me to describe fairly— but I can say that she is a Southern Missouri girl, Truman state grad who later got an MA in Philosophy, an awesome mom, kind, loving, supportive, and a friend whose presence I sorely miss in my life, though at least we keep in touch via facebook!

My small descriptions cannot really do these people justice. Forgive the use of less than adequate words like “kind” and “amazing.” These people healed the hurt of the last two years and did it in five weeks, all the while making food grow out of dirt that they sprinkled seeds in and watered. They’re miracle workers.

So, that was my five weeks at the Woods in a nutshell. I got to spend my days and some evenings with my community, have lunch with my sisters, hang out with Arrianne and go on walks, talk with Joni when she was home, and sometimes, rarely, I got to spend special moments, or even whole evenings, with the sisters I am closest to—gathered around a bonfire or sitting at a table, chatting, sharing, singing, learning, and loving. Each of those evenings is pressed into my heart—a memory that I call on when I need strength.

Thank you, my sisters.

I’ll continue in the next post with tales from the SP Annual Meeting, moving in, and more!

2012-- 100 Book Challenge

I finished!!!! FOUR DAYS LATE, but I DID IT!!!!!

From my blog at the beginning of 2012:

"So, my resolutions? Well, to explain the first, I want to share a statistic I read in the December/January issue of Natural Health: “According to the National Endowment for the Arts, the average American only spends 12 minutes a day reading.” (It goes on to say that studies show that regular readers are more likely than non readers to engage in positive civic and individual activities.) This made me think back to the good old days of Mrs. Meusch’s reading class at St. Pats and the 30 minutes a night we were required to read (or 30 pages, since she assumed we could all read at least a page a minute—I mean, it’s not like we were reading Proust). I also thought back to the number of books I successfully completed reading last semester outside of class: 1. It was a book Fr. Jeff asked me to read because the freshmen were reading it and it took me almost the whole semester (as in, I started in August and finished in December) to read it. I mean, sure, I reread five chapters of Henry Adams, intermittently read Pride and Prejudice and The Marble Faun (neither of which have I finished), and read a ton of magazine articles (hence the article mentioned above), but I didn’t actually read books. Now, some of you might not be shocked to hear this, but I was shocked to realize it. For those of you who remember the girl who plowed through fifty to sixty books each semester in Mrs. Meusch’s class, you can see the problem. And I have felt myself getting less and less grammatically correct (truly, I feel myself growing less intelligent by the second sometimes). So, therefore, I need to read books. So my first resolution is to read 100 books in 2012."

So, I'm reading books. A lot of books. If you have recommendations, please let me know.

Here are the ones I've read so far...
1. The Invisible Man by HG Wells
2. The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien
3. Out of the Silent Planet by C. S. Lewis
4. A Wrinkle in Time by Madeline L'Engle
5. Joshua by Joseph Girzone
6. The Lost Hero by Rick Riordan
7. The Help by Kathryn Stockett
8. Till We Have Faces by C. S. Lewis
9. The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins
10. Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins
11. Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins
12. The Way of Ignorance by Wendell Berry
13. Living Your Strengths by Albert Winseman
14. The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin
15. The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis
16. Farming: A Handbook by Wendell Berry
17. Welcome to the Arc by Stephanie Tolan
18. The Flight of the Raven by Stephanie Tolan
19. Dairy Free and Gluten Free Kitchen by Denise Jardine
20. Little Women by Louisa May Alcott
21. Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen
22. The Suicide Club by Robert Louis Stevenson
23. One by Dan Zadra
24. The Shadow Thieves by Ann Ursu
25. The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin
26. Five by Dan Zadra
27. Gluten-Free Desserts by Leslie Hammond and Betsy Laakso
28. The Rule of Won by Stefan Petrucha
29. The Patron Saint of Butterflies by Cecelia Galante
30. The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupery
31. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
32. In Wisdom's Path by Jan Richardson
33. On Job by Gustavo Gutierrez
34. Once Upon a More Enlightened Time by James Finn Garner
35. Where Things Come Back  by John Corey Whaley
36. Praying the Psalms by Thomas Merton
37. Emma by Jane Austen
38. The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd
39. The Singer by Calvin Miller
40. The Princess and Curdie by George MacDonald
41. Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh
42. The Fall by Garth Nix
43. The Siren Song by Anne Ursu
44. The Five Fakirs of Faizabad by P.B. Kerr
45. The Princess and the Goblin by George MacDonald
46. The Epic Tale of Bartkowiak
47. The Light Princess by George MacDonald
48. Castle by Garth Nix
49. Aenir by Garth Nix
50. Everything that Rises Must Converge by Flannery O'Connor
51. Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen
52. The Grave Robbers of Genghis Khan by P.B. Kerr
53. Above the Veil by Garth Nix
54. Into Battle by Garth Nix
55. The Violet Keystone by Garth Nix
56. Tattoos on the Heart by Fr. Greg Boyle
57. Here by Wislawa Szymborska
58. Dirty Life by Kristin Kimball
59. A Jane Austen Education by William Deresiewicz
60. Five Practices of Fruitful Living  by Richard Schnase
61. Five Practices of Fruitful Living: A Leader Guide by Richard Schnase
62. Midnight for Charlie Bone by Jenny Nimmo
63. Immortal Fire by Anne Ursu
64. Perelandra by C. S. Lewis
65. Charlie Bone and the Time Twister by Jenny Nimmo
66. Leavings by Wendell Berry
67. Politically Correct Holiday Stories by Finn Garner
68. Small Plates and Sweet Treats by Aran Goyoaga
69. Charlie Bone and the Invisible Boy by Jenny Nimmo
70. Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert
71. Charlie Bone and the Castle of Mirrors by Jenny Nimmo
72. Crystal Line by Anne McCaffrey
73. Charlie Bone and the Hidden King by Jenny Nimmo
74. Charlie Bone and the Beast by Jenny Nimmo
75. Charlie Bone and the Shadow by Jenny Nimmo
76. The Problem of Pain by C.S. Lewis
77. The Hobbit by J.R.R.T.
78. My Sisters, The Sanints by Colleen Carroll Campbell
79. Charlie Bone and the Red Knight by Jenny Nimmo
80. That Hideous Strength by C.S. Lewis
81. The Silmarillion by JRRT (I made a deal at the beginning of the year that if I read the Silmarillion, I could count it as 20 books... so I finished!)

Stats:
Books by C.S. Lewis: 6
Books by Wendell Berry: 3
Books by Tolkien: 2
Books by Austen: 4 (bonus: 1 book about Austen)
Cookbooks: 3
Series read (beginning to end): 7

I'd say it was a good year!

There are no success stories here

14 October 2012

I have been thinking a lot about the term “success” lately. As a child growing up in rural Missouri, success was something to be aspired to. In fact, it was just about the only thing that we aspired to. No one really ever explained what it meant, but it was like a blessing passed on from the older generations: “May you be successful, may you find success.” My own obsession with education and knowledge was linked to (though not merely a result of) my maternal grandfather’s insistence that the only way I could be successful was if I got an education. It was never directly stated, but I was under the impression from a young age that this being successful involved money. My maternal grandmother, who, I must say has only ever wanted the best for us kids, longed for lawyers and doctors in the family. This was not because she wanted legal or medical advice, but because those seemed the most lucrative positions (this was before the technology boom and computers became the money makers). I’m grateful that she doesn’t seem too disappointed about our failure to produce either (although, let’s not give up hope too soon, I have a cousin who would make a great lawyer if he would get through the schooling).

At any rate, looking at my life right now, I’m not sure if I can be considered successful. I certainly don’t have a lot of money. On the contrary, the only material thing I have a lot of is debt. Then there’s the question of success in my field(s) of choice. As a classicist, I must be a failure because I left the field. As a historian, same thing. As a theologian, the fact that I have already admitted to hating theology (/morethanfleshandbone/2012/03/so-heres-why-i-hate-theology.html) probably means I’m not very successful. As a writer, I’m generally too tired to write down the many thoughts in my head and heart. Instead, I lay down and read what other writers have to say.

As a Campus Minister, I’m not really sure how you can define success. Is it quantitative or qualitative? In our conversations with the Archdiocese, we’re always being asked about numbers. Honestly, sometimes there is only one person who shows up to my events. Sometimes there are thirty. But if we have a great conversation about God in which one or both of us grow closer to Him, in which Christ becomes present in a tangible way, isn’t that meeting with the only student who showed up a success?

A couple weeks ago, we had a Leadership meeting on a Saturday morning. Our leadership team is made up of about 16 students and only five showed up. For my boss, this was a failure. And really, as a leadership team meeting, it couldn’t have been much of a success because part of being a team meeting is the team showing up for the meeting. But I don’t think it was a failure, either. I had great conversations with the students, got to know them better in new ways and during our hour together I saw us grow in understanding of what it means to be a Christian and to be in communion with the other. We shared the stories of our “Eli”s (1 Sam 3:1-18), those people who challenge us and invite us to follow our calling, those spiritual leaders who have made us who we are. Sitting there, hearing the stories that these five women had to tell, two of whom are freshmen in college—I don’t think that anything which brings such powerful witnesses together and unites them in prayer could be other than a success, and it was a success brought about by the Holy Spirit.

As we are preparing for a lot of changes and transitions at the BCC, we find ourselves being asked to defend the need for campus ministers at Butler. People ask us for success stories. Fr. Jeff has many—he can tell you about the students who entered into the Catholic Church, the ones who went on to change the world in many ways and who stayed strong in their faith. He considers those to be success stories. Certainly, they are the easiest ones to tell and he tells them which such love and warmth that the hearer is satisfied in the need for ministry to continue here. 

My temptation is always to say that there are no success stories at the Butler Catholic Community. Instead, there are love stories. I’m not sure what success is, but I do know what love is and these kids teach me about it every day.

I can tell you love stories about my love for my students, about how I see God in them and how my own love grows abundantly through them. I can tell you about their love and generosity and patience with me as they teach me so many lessons about life and love. I can tell you about our mutual love for Fr. Jeff, a man with amazing wisdom and kindness and a great power and ability to love that we all benefit from every day. I can tell you about their love for each other: the strength they give each other during tragedies and heartbreak, stress and studying. I can tell you about students who say to me that they wouldn’t have gotten through their breakup, the death of their grandfather, their PCAT, their final exams, their own illnesses without the love of their friends from the BCC.

I can tell you specific stories: the girl who found the ability to love herself through being loved in a way that didn’t demand, didn’t take—only gave; the young woman who finally found a place where God made sense and became the loving creator she needed instead of the judge she had been taught about as a child, how she found this place through the dedication and love of a friend who invited and invited until she came; there’s the one about the young man who carried a girl to her dorm all the way across campus because she was sick and too weak to walk. I look at their faces and see not only college students, but I can see the face of Christ so vividly sometimes that I am perpetually amazed by them.

The most important love stories are the love stories of these college students and their Creator. There are the love stories of their love for God: their trust, their faith so strong that it makes mine pale in comparison. There is the girl who just came back from studying abroad where she had a conversion experience and now is bravely facing the knowledge that the five year plan she had so carefully crafted and protected in her heart since high school isn’t God’s plan for her. She is going forward with far more grace than I did when I had a similar experience. She is one of my heroes and I am blessed to know her, much less to serve her.

Far more beautiful are the love stories that I witness quietly, the ones of the love of a passionately loving creator who so obviously cherishes these college students in spite of anything that they might do to deter his love. I have seen Him come back again and again to pursue them, to work miracles in their lives only to be recognized after with some mystified disbelief. I have seen men and women grow into something far greater than what they were before and while some might call these “success stories,” I am painfully aware that I had nothing at all to do with it. I just sat with them at the Blue House or in Starbucks or walked around campus with them, watching the changes take place.

I have been praised before for the love that I so obviously have for these mischievous college kids, the frat boys and sorority girls, the seemingly frustrating and narcissistic kids who really just want to be loved and don’t know how to love themselves, the socially awkward kids who are still trying to figure out who they are. But really, it’s nothing to love them. I am not Mother Theresa, saving the poor of Calcutta. I’m not Fr. Greg Boyle, loving the homeboys in LA. Like Oscar Romero, I am blessed to say that it is easy to do my job well when I have such great students. The trick is not in loving them; it’s in not letting my heart break because I love them so much. I challenge any person to know these amazing men and women, to spend even a couple days with them, and not love them. It’s not possible, I promise you.

Last weekend, I went home for the Oktoberfest. It was a well-needed and wonderful rest. Going back to Rolla for things like that is like walking into a big, warm hug. I felt wrapped up in love and was reinvigorated to continue my ministry. The only downside of the trip was the immense number of people who asked what my plan is for after I graduate Notre Dame. The frustrating answer is that I don’t know, but like my student who so bravely is letting God guide her future, I am trying to trust that He has a plan and that his plan, unlike my own half-dozen batch of half baked plans for next year, will rise up and give me the answer I need.

On the drive down and part of the drive back, I listened to the audiobook of Tattoos on the Heart by Fr. Greg Boyle. This is an awesome book and everyone should read it (thanks to Sarah Hallett and Fr. Jeff separately for the recommendations to read it). He quotes Mother Theresa saying that we are not called to success but to faithfulness. As I look forward to this next step into the great unknown, I try to hold onto this. I am not called to success, only faithfulness. So, let us all faithfully move forward out of the darkness and into the light, listening to our call.