Positively (Im)perfect

"Come and see." These were the words Jesus spoke in last Sunday’s gospel--His response when the apostles first encountered Jesus and asked where He was going. Our priest shared that praying on this passage had led to his vacation, and invited us to try too. “Ask Jesus where He is going and meditate on His response to come and see .” It's no secret that I'm a sucker for some good Ignatian meditation, and I brightened at the idea, thinking of all the ways Jesus might be calling me. Sinking to my knees after communion, I immediately went to my imagination—watching Jesus approach, feeling the possibility of adventure, the magnetic pull to follow. Where are we going? I sang out in my heart.  Where do You want to lead? The Two words that returned shook me from my prayerful, hope-filled reverie: “To Calvary.” Calvary?  I recoiled in fear, grasping to qualify it with some strand of hope—what was that my friend always said? “From the cross alway

This post is a miracle you guys, because blogging in this season takes colossal effort. But I'm making it happen because I know if I don't, the Megan of next year will be so annoyed with the Megan of today. Future Megan: Thank you.   Current Megan: You'd better be grateful. Moving along... This was probably my worst reading year in recent history, but I'm okay with that, because #lifeyo. I'm in an Army course right now that's just shy of Master's-level in both time commitment and work load, so while I can indeed claim copious amounts of reading, only a small portion of that can be relegated to pleasure versus subjects that make me want to gouge my eyes out. (Granted, some of the leadership and military history stuff is mildly interesting, but it can't balance out the other 30 hours per week lost on things like government contracting and how a good idea fairy becomes a tank). Onward and upward! -- Happily, I wrote a historical fic

It's strange sometimes how what's meant to be an inspirational snippet can become your complete undoing. One late summer day, I innocently watched a preview for a groundbreaking new show whose main character has autism. I was prepared to be touched and uplifted--but suddenly found myself shrinking inward as the reality of the subject matter landed a little too close to home. And there I sat, powerless, as an unwelcome emotional dam broke open to flood the depths of my soul -- a flood I thought I'd successfully ignored into dormancy, but whose currents apparently ran far deeper and stronger than I'd acknowledged. This particular dam goes by the name of "The ASD Mom Keeping it Together." ASD being Autism Spectrum Disorder, of course. And it's not a dam I pay much heed to or a subject I broach very often, here or otherwise — mostly to protect my son’s privacy, somewhat because I've learned over the years how to keep the dam mostly inta

CLOSED! Congrats to our winner, Elisabeth S.! ADVENT. It arrives in two weeks, people. I have been waiting for Advent for {seemingly} ever this year, and we are FINALLY so close I can feel it. The reason I've been waiting so impatiently is, of course , the gorgeous Blessed is She Advent journal - a devotional called In the Beginning  designed by Erica Tighe and written by  Laura Fanucci , which invites us into that sacred, anticipation-filled "beginning"-- the origin of our being, the beginning of our faith journey, the gift of new life and a new year and new possibilities. 2017 Advent Journal Laura takes us through the beginning of each Gospel in a soul-stirring new way, and having snuck (more than) a few peeks, I can tell you that I.cannot.wait. for this journey! I also happen to have the inside scoop that this year, everyone with a journal will be able to participate and share the journey in a beautiful new way, together . It's gonna

11.13.17 Sometimes you get just plumb tired of life. Tired mentally from the drudgery and toil of demanding routine, tired emotionally from the struggle, tired physically from the pain and exhaustion.  And there’s just no way around it {but through}.  I used to think I could {& should} tell myself to suck it up and power through and be happy anyway. {Talk about unhealthy coping mechanisms}. But I’m learning—between the hard work of dragging myself from bed on these life-tired days and the endless to-do list that’s never actually done—that purposefully injecting intentional joy into my day helps balance the difficulty of the “through” and energizes me to do more of the hard stuff in the end. Today, I had the presence of mind to go beyond the mental exercise and actually write joy into my schedule. Today, after centering my tired soul with morning prayer, I felt compelled to make joy not just a nebulous task, but a visual goal. I started with something as simple as a pair

ST.  JUDE  SIDE  CHAPEL  |  ST.  PATRICK'S  CATHEDRAL 10.30.17 I got stopped dead in my tracks this morning while listening to this line from the First Reading {Romans 8:15}:  “For you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into...”  ...and just as my brain tried to autocorrect the last word to “sin,” I heard a different word proclaimed, the very word my soul drags around like a weight just as heavy as sin: “fear.”  This verse, as you might know if you recognize it, goes on to tell us about our spirit of adoption in God. The one that invites—no, compels—us to call Him Abba. Daddy.  And words of the Bethel Music hymn ripped through me— I’m no longer a slave to fear // I am a child of God  I could almost hear God’s gentle chuckle. Because no matter how often I circle around it, no matter how much I stretch my spirit, no matter how hard I try and fail to wrap my mind around this Father-daughter relationship, He is lovingly, patiently, relentless in

Hey-o... Just chillin here on Easter Saturday, writing from the exact same place I started my Lent on Ash Wednesday... The sick bed. Yep, the same place of suffering, the same no-social-media isolation [only one day away from the end of my fast], the same slow, slow passage of idle hours when I crave the distraction of busyness--especially when there is SO much to be done in preparation for our celebration tomorrow. Aside from my mounting chronic illness woes, I've been fairly free of communicable junk since that fateful Wednesday some 40 odd days ago. Until yesterday. I'm sure it's no coincidence that I am here. Again. [Seriously, God?] Ironically, I waxed poetic just the other day about Jesus proving that He is actively with me in such moments as these, and worse...because I finally shut up and let Him show me . I offered myself anew, even as I felt like the crud was coming on yesterday, thinking, "I can do this with You, Jesus. I will suffe

It's been a rough, tough patch lately in an already barren desert of a season. My body has all but quit. So many hard situations plague the surrounding world. So many loved ones seem trapped in a slow downhill shift toward another long, dark valley. Today, I felt the sigh of reality escape my lips as I gingerly washed some day-old strawberries that were already headed past their prime, hoping to pump some vitamin C into my sweet boy who'd just spiked a fever. He glanced at them and a smile lit up his flushed little face. "Soon," he said, his tired but bright eyes widening with delight, "we won't have to buy them from the store anymore. We'll pick them from our garden!" I'd forgotten how, a few weeks ago, I'd excitedly led the kids out back to show them the first, almost hidden surprises of spring. The green baubles of new buds clinging to dry skeletons of branches. The ruddy stubs of rhubarb and sharp green edges of bulbs, peeking o

Lent. Sweet, dear, long-awaited Lent. Oh, it's here--loud and clear. A few days ago, I wrote a nicely-packaged little sentiment about my Lenten goals before logging off social media for the season. It went something like this: I'm giving up social media for the first time! I'm hoping to be back for the Alleluia chorus with: • better time management   • a more vibrant prayer life   • renewed effort in nourishing one-on-one relationships   • & better discipline in first serving the people in front of my face who need me before I dive in to connect with those on my screen. I then came here and started this little ditty of a post to expand upon those points - so I could tell you that even though Facebook is officially meh, I knew it would still challenge me because social media has led me to some incredible community and amazing relationships, some even turning into real-life local friends. But then I was going to concede that I don't need to furth

“All that is good, all that is true, all that is beautiful brings us to God.” –Pope Francis We live in a world overflowing with beauty.  Yet we tend to relegate our ideals of beauty to pages of a magazine, places of intrigue, exotic destinations, a somewhere or a something new and different enough to jolt our senses awake and into an attitude of appreciation.  The truth, though, is that God has built a cathedral of ever-changing, ever-present beauty right in our daily sphere of being. So often, we walk past it with unseeing eyes and overworked hearts, overwhelmed by the craziness of work or family or holiday doings which keep our minds spinning and our stress mounting and our souls blind--blind to the simple, profound beauties created to punctuate our day with the kind of reminder that connects us at the soul-level with the truth of God’s love and creative genius. It's acceptable in the breakneck pace of our world to confine the when and where of our pl

It's been one hell of a "season" lately. Those who know me well know I don't say that lightly. My health continues to go down the pooper; I've made more appointments and gotten more sympathy from no-nonsense medical professionals than I know what to do with. But the only answers are guesses at best, the only suggestions shots in the dark.  I'm tired. So weary.  I'm told I hide it well, which I suppose is good and bad. I don't need to spend my days constantly weighing down the rest of the world with my woes, especially if there are good moments to be had [and there are, so much more than the bad].  But bad moments are also part of this reality. Some days, this endometriosis pain is just a real bleepword--no euphemisms or platitudes about it to soften the blow. The daily, sometimes hourly game of Russian Roulette ("will my body tolerate this food again or not? Will the pain be better or worse if I ____?") is physically and