And that makes me feel brave.
There's a girl out there that needs bravery right now. Her name is Emily.
She's a beautiful girl from England who has leukemia. She went into remission for a little while early this year, but the cancer came back in March. Now the doctors are saying that they're going to stop chemotherapy because it's not working.
I don't even know her, but I'm proud of her.
She's fighting, day after day. She's living, and she's believing in God even though it's fricken hard.
Pain is in the world. Hurt is in the world. Death is in the world. We have to deal with all of them, but generally they don't hit us when we're young. They hit her, but she's living. Living to the full.
Pain is not an indicator to fall over and decide to die. Reading her blog taught me that. Neither is pain something to ignore, to pretend it's not there and blindly believe that it has to go away, it MUST go away.
Pain is hard, but it's a daily something to live with. We are not to whine. We are not to be blind. We are to trust, even when it's hard and not understandable.
This girl's simply posting made me realize that.
I'm praying for you, Emily!
-Tina
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Friday, April 29, 2011
I Am A Dreamer
I spoke to the manager of a Panera Bread about my application for a job there today. Relatively normal? Yes. Normal for me? No. I've never talked to a manager before or followed up a job opportunity seriously. It was kind of scary. Thinking of working there this summer is even more scary, but I want to do it.
The reason that I want to do it is because I want to embrace life and live it to the full. I am so bad at that from day to day. See, I've got these big dreams-- really huge dreams, actually, but I don't really do much with them. I do school, go on the computer, but I do not motivate myself to go above and beyond and seize the day. I want to be a screenwriter, but when do I write screenplays? Not so much.
This should change.
Seizing the day is not living in the normal. It's living for God and fulfilling your duties in life to the fullest, and appreciate everything you've got and every opportunity you've got when it's there by taking it. That's not to say to overwork yourself, but I'm more in danger of underworking myself, of not realizing my potential. Of not realizing my dreams.
There's another connection to my post title that I found this week, and I'd like to share it with you. It's a poem.
Dreamers
by Siegfried Sassoon
Soldiers are citizens of death's grey land,
Drawing no dividend from time's tomorrows.
In the great hour of destiny they stand,
Each with his feuds, and jealousies, and sorrows.
Soldiers are sworn to action; they must win
Some flaming, fatal climax with their lives.
Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin
They think of firelit homes, clean beds, and wives.
I see them in foul dug-outs, gnawed by rats,
And in the ruined trenches, lashed with rain,
Dreaming of things they did with balls and bats,
And mocked by hopeless longing to regain
Bank-holidays, and picture shows, and spats,
And going to the office in the train.
-------
It's a really sad poem. It is. It makes me cry. But it throws things in perspective. Soldiers dream of doing normal things, and you better believe that if they had the chance to be home instead of on the front lines in that horror, they would live their days to the full. I want to do that, to live like everything is precious.
I want to do more than just dream. I want to act.
-Tina
The reason that I want to do it is because I want to embrace life and live it to the full. I am so bad at that from day to day. See, I've got these big dreams-- really huge dreams, actually, but I don't really do much with them. I do school, go on the computer, but I do not motivate myself to go above and beyond and seize the day. I want to be a screenwriter, but when do I write screenplays? Not so much.
This should change.
Seizing the day is not living in the normal. It's living for God and fulfilling your duties in life to the fullest, and appreciate everything you've got and every opportunity you've got when it's there by taking it. That's not to say to overwork yourself, but I'm more in danger of underworking myself, of not realizing my potential. Of not realizing my dreams.
There's another connection to my post title that I found this week, and I'd like to share it with you. It's a poem.
Dreamers
by Siegfried Sassoon
Soldiers are citizens of death's grey land,
Drawing no dividend from time's tomorrows.
In the great hour of destiny they stand,
Each with his feuds, and jealousies, and sorrows.
Soldiers are sworn to action; they must win
Some flaming, fatal climax with their lives.
Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin
They think of firelit homes, clean beds, and wives.
I see them in foul dug-outs, gnawed by rats,
And in the ruined trenches, lashed with rain,
Dreaming of things they did with balls and bats,
And mocked by hopeless longing to regain
Bank-holidays, and picture shows, and spats,
And going to the office in the train.
-------
It's a really sad poem. It is. It makes me cry. But it throws things in perspective. Soldiers dream of doing normal things, and you better believe that if they had the chance to be home instead of on the front lines in that horror, they would live their days to the full. I want to do that, to live like everything is precious.
I want to do more than just dream. I want to act.
-Tina
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
I just wanna sing and dance!
Welcome to another issue of My-Niece Whenever-There-Is-Something-Worth-Writing-About!
This week we've got a special treat for you guys-- Cinderella: Sophia Style.
The main characters?
The watcher of this scene promptly bursts out laughing, unable to contain herself any longer.
-Tina
This week we've got a special treat for you guys-- Cinderella: Sophia Style.
The main characters?
- 12 inch Barbie as the Stepmother
- 3 inch plastic doll as The Prince
- Fashion Polly Cinderella as Cinderella!
Sophia starts the action by acting out the prince; her mom acts the Stepmother and Cinderella. He finds Cinderella.
Prince: I'll jump you up on the pony!
Cinderella: Oh, how nice!
Prince: I'll see you at da ball!
Cinderella: ...I thought this was the ball.
Prince: When you hear the letter B, come to da ball!
Cinderella: Oh, ok. I'll go home now.
Cinderella goes home, but *gasp*, her stepmother finds her!
Stepmother: Cinderella, you still have to do the vacuuming and the cooking and the cleaning and all your work. Do it now!
Cinderella: Stepmother, I will, but the prince asked me to the ball and I want to go.
Stepmother: NO! I'll lock you in your room! Ha Ha Ha!
The stepmother locks Cinderella in her room, who cries for help for a few minutes but then falls silent.
Meanwhile, the prince goes to their accustomed meeting place. When he doesn't find her there, he breaks out into song:
"Cindoweeeeella! Cindoweeeella! Where are you? And we'll go to da ball and dance and find you...yeah, yeah, yeah, laaaaaaa....Cindoweeeeeellla!"
End of musical interlude.
The prince rushes to Cinderella's house to find her.
Prince: Where is Princowella? (Another word for cinderella, of course)
Stepmother: Cinderella? I don't know who you're talking about!
Prince: (momentarily confused) You know! Princowella! The one I'm gonna dance with at da ball!"
Stepmother: Oh, but I don't want you to dance with her! I want you to go to the ball with one of my own daughters!
(Brief pause while Sophia's mom tries to find girl dolls among the toys.)
Prince: (still confused) Princowella IS your daughter! You're her mothow!
Stepmother: (whilst still looking) No, she's my stepdaughter.
(Sophia's mum comes back with the perfect toy for her stepdaughter)
Anastasia:
The watcher of this scene promptly bursts out laughing, unable to contain herself any longer.
-Tina
Sunday, April 3, 2011
When You Come to Where You're Broken Within
Confession, as Catholics know the word, is not understood by most people in the world.
Really, Catholics are brought up with a mindset considered very strange. Most people don't like to be reminded that they were wrong. Even if some people are willing to admit their sin at the time it was committed, they don't want to remember it or talk about it. They want it blotted out, forever forgotten.
This impulse is natural, but Catholics make themselves remember their sins until confession, which is quite opposite from most people. We deliberately dredge up our faults from the dregs of our minds so that we can verbally confess them to the priest.
Most people shirk from both parts, for the following reasons. 1) Why do you want to keep going back to that awful thing you did, and 2) Why would you want to actually tell someone?
To the first, the benefit of remembering is very strong. If you are conscious that sin is wrong, and you are ashamed of doing it, you don't want to do it again, right? You cannot remember what you'd like to avoid doing if you can't remember what it is.
So WHY try to forget sins and sinful tendencies? To quote a book, "If there's a wasp in the room I like to be able to to see it," The natural conclusion to this is so that one can avoid the wasp. We want to know what our sins are so that we can be on the watch within ourselves for the problems that we have a tendency to fall into. That's the reason to examine and remember.
As for confessing, the genuine belief of Catholics is that God is acting through the priest. God is the one offended by our sins, so he's the one to apologize to. Therefore, if you take it that you are actually confessing to God when confessing to the priest, then we're verbally apologizing for our sins, for offending him.
Why not, though, just apologize to God silently, in a prayer in our heads?
Let’s give another example: why don’t we write someone a note to apologize for wronging them? Of course, we could. But isn’t the apology so much more tangible and personal when said face to face? And if the person has specifically asked for your apologies to come personally, then shouldn’t you oblige them if you’re really sorry?
Besides, what are we shying from in either instance? Embarrassment. An example here could be that we stole something from a person, and they haven’t noticed. It’s extremely embarrassing to let them know that we wronged them, and we wouldn’t look stupid if we just let sleeping dogs lie—but it’s the right thing to do to tell them. In the same way, we don’t want to tell someone else that we’ve messed up in confession. That’s not a good reason to forego apologizing, though.
So: the first step in apologizing is admitting to yourself that you were wrong, that your sin was wrong. The second is telling God so—admitting it to Him and apologizing.
That’s what the penitent’s side of confession is; apology. God’s side is forgiveness, and you know what is really marvelous? After we’ve confessed our sins, we can do what our instinct was to do all along: forget them. Why? Because God already did after giving His forgiveness.
-Tina
Really, Catholics are brought up with a mindset considered very strange. Most people don't like to be reminded that they were wrong. Even if some people are willing to admit their sin at the time it was committed, they don't want to remember it or talk about it. They want it blotted out, forever forgotten.
This impulse is natural, but Catholics make themselves remember their sins until confession, which is quite opposite from most people. We deliberately dredge up our faults from the dregs of our minds so that we can verbally confess them to the priest.
Most people shirk from both parts, for the following reasons. 1) Why do you want to keep going back to that awful thing you did, and 2) Why would you want to actually tell someone?
To the first, the benefit of remembering is very strong. If you are conscious that sin is wrong, and you are ashamed of doing it, you don't want to do it again, right? You cannot remember what you'd like to avoid doing if you can't remember what it is.
So WHY try to forget sins and sinful tendencies? To quote a book, "If there's a wasp in the room I like to be able to to see it," The natural conclusion to this is so that one can avoid the wasp. We want to know what our sins are so that we can be on the watch within ourselves for the problems that we have a tendency to fall into. That's the reason to examine and remember.
As for confessing, the genuine belief of Catholics is that God is acting through the priest. God is the one offended by our sins, so he's the one to apologize to. Therefore, if you take it that you are actually confessing to God when confessing to the priest, then we're verbally apologizing for our sins, for offending him.
Why not, though, just apologize to God silently, in a prayer in our heads?
Let’s give another example: why don’t we write someone a note to apologize for wronging them? Of course, we could. But isn’t the apology so much more tangible and personal when said face to face? And if the person has specifically asked for your apologies to come personally, then shouldn’t you oblige them if you’re really sorry?
Besides, what are we shying from in either instance? Embarrassment. An example here could be that we stole something from a person, and they haven’t noticed. It’s extremely embarrassing to let them know that we wronged them, and we wouldn’t look stupid if we just let sleeping dogs lie—but it’s the right thing to do to tell them. In the same way, we don’t want to tell someone else that we’ve messed up in confession. That’s not a good reason to forego apologizing, though.
So: the first step in apologizing is admitting to yourself that you were wrong, that your sin was wrong. The second is telling God so—admitting it to Him and apologizing.
That’s what the penitent’s side of confession is; apology. God’s side is forgiveness, and you know what is really marvelous? After we’ve confessed our sins, we can do what our instinct was to do all along: forget them. Why? Because God already did after giving His forgiveness.
-Tina
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
I was made to love.
That's why I was created. To love. To be loved. My purpose in life is to love my Creator.
Love takes many forms. It can be typical, like a kiss and a hug. It can be with words. It can be through service. But you know what? I think that every single action can be done with love. And if it is, then the action done fulfills the reason I was created.
I want to write with a spirit of love. To work hard on developing the talent God has given me and then, when people read what I've written, for them to come closer to God through it. Honestly, would that not be awesome? I can only imagine something like that happening with me.
I want to go to school and sit in the classroom and work hard with love in my heart. Not so that I'll look good. Not so that it's just finished already. Not so that I make my points and win all the arguments. Just with a heart that wants to love.
Every action done with love. I imagine the actions flowing out of me drenched with love.
Every single action. That's a LOT.
If I did it all the time, I'd be bone dry of all my love. And know what? I'd become bitter. Good thing I'm not using MY love, then! Not only! God is like a water pitcher! He fills me up. It's like I'm a hose and he's the pipes and then I can spray everyone whether they like it or not. ;)
This is not the reality of now. I'm not that proud, thank goodness. This is a goal. Oh, help, Lord. Help me get there.
-Tina
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Same old Tired lonely Place
I was very cranky this afternoon.
Sometimes I get that way. I'm tired, or things haven't gone how I've wanted them to go, or I was frustrated by something. This afternoon the fire alarm went off when I was studying at college in my favorite place, so I had to leave it and study in a cramped hallway. Then in French class my teacher went off about how it was relative if people should be conformist or nonconformist and if either of them actually had a solid definition. Then I wasn't done with school or piano because I'd had to study in the morning for a Biology test.
The thing that began to lift me out of my crankiness was when I was complaining that I was cranky and I wanted a hug, and my nephew came over and snuggled his head into my chest.
It was so sweet. A little corner of my hurting, cranky heart began to feel better.
So what now? I've known forever that I'm extremely rigid. That when things don't go just my way, or a normal way, I get out of sorts. I've known forever that I should change. Now I wonder, if I change, maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't get cranky because of these things. They would roll off my back, and I'd be able to smile through the rough parts.
That idea makes me smile. So I think I'll start trying to change. How? The best way I can think is to smile and stay happy and depending on God when the bad things happen. To consciously think, "I'm giving my studies to you, God. You'll help me get them done when they have to be done," when I get off track with schoolwork or am interrupted. To think, "Other people in the world think differently than me. Let me listen and take the good that I can from them, but depend on you for truth, God," when people are annoying and relative.
Then, you know what? Instead of being cranky and hating my night, I'll be able to say,
"This night is sparkling, don't you let it go
I'm wonderstruck, dancing around all alone."
Sometimes I get that way. I'm tired, or things haven't gone how I've wanted them to go, or I was frustrated by something. This afternoon the fire alarm went off when I was studying at college in my favorite place, so I had to leave it and study in a cramped hallway. Then in French class my teacher went off about how it was relative if people should be conformist or nonconformist and if either of them actually had a solid definition. Then I wasn't done with school or piano because I'd had to study in the morning for a Biology test.
The thing that began to lift me out of my crankiness was when I was complaining that I was cranky and I wanted a hug, and my nephew came over and snuggled his head into my chest.
It was so sweet. A little corner of my hurting, cranky heart began to feel better.
So what now? I've known forever that I'm extremely rigid. That when things don't go just my way, or a normal way, I get out of sorts. I've known forever that I should change. Now I wonder, if I change, maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't get cranky because of these things. They would roll off my back, and I'd be able to smile through the rough parts.
That idea makes me smile. So I think I'll start trying to change. How? The best way I can think is to smile and stay happy and depending on God when the bad things happen. To consciously think, "I'm giving my studies to you, God. You'll help me get them done when they have to be done," when I get off track with schoolwork or am interrupted. To think, "Other people in the world think differently than me. Let me listen and take the good that I can from them, but depend on you for truth, God," when people are annoying and relative.
Then, you know what? Instead of being cranky and hating my night, I'll be able to say,
"This night is sparkling, don't you let it go
I'm wonderstruck, dancing around all alone."
Sunday, February 27, 2011
You're Making My Life a Garden
God is making my life beautiful. The funny thing is, I usually think that I have to tangibly see the beauty to know that he's making it fresh and pure. To see the goodness, that I'm becoming more perfect, that life is getting easier and that temptation is being crowded out by a desire to be good and love God above all else.
All of those things are definitely beautiful, and they're the fruits of following God in how you live. Yet I think that God is shaping me and growing me and making my life more pure even when I can't see Him doing it. It's like he's there invisibly, helping me in those moments where I could trip and fall and standing me up straight. He's the reminders to think the best of people, and to shut up if I haven't anything good to say, or to pay attention in Mass.
These things are tiny. They're even rare, at times in my life. But they're proof that God is real and that He loves me. That even when I'm a jerk, He's not going to give up on me.
That's a wonderful comfort. I'm loved. It's the most special thing to be.
-Tina
All of those things are definitely beautiful, and they're the fruits of following God in how you live. Yet I think that God is shaping me and growing me and making my life more pure even when I can't see Him doing it. It's like he's there invisibly, helping me in those moments where I could trip and fall and standing me up straight. He's the reminders to think the best of people, and to shut up if I haven't anything good to say, or to pay attention in Mass.
These things are tiny. They're even rare, at times in my life. But they're proof that God is real and that He loves me. That even when I'm a jerk, He's not going to give up on me.
That's a wonderful comfort. I'm loved. It's the most special thing to be.
-Tina
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