tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61233545148308239082024-03-05T01:49:48.796-08:00As We Spin Around the SunAmanda Hamilton http://www.blogger.com/profile/02146501142963323123noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123354514830823908.post-42803862117740172022014-03-13T15:06:00.000-07:002014-03-13T15:06:38.500-07:00the stairs of the white house<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">as we drive we pass a white house<br />
I don't know who lives inside<br />
what they do or what their names are<br />
what the walls might have to hide<br />
<br />
but my hand is out the window<br />
it rides the wind along my view<br />
a light shines on the narrow stairs<br />
I don't know why I think of you<br />
<br />
I think because it's perfect<br />
I think because it's night<br />
I almost see your freckles<br />
but I know that can't be right<br />
<br />
I know that you can't live there<br />
you simply never will<br />
its halls won't ever have your voice<br />
I somehow feel you still<br />
<br />
I wonder what you'd look like<br />
I wonder what you'd say<br />
it's the type of country house<br />
I always saw you in one day<br />
<br />
your children would be loving<br />
I know they'd have your eyes<br />
generations sleep in coffins<br />
when someone like you dies<br />
<br />
this is where I see you<br />
this is the life I'll save<br />
you'll grow old in this white house<br />
and we won't need your grave<br />
<br />
so leave the light on for me<br />
don't forget to sweep the stairs<br />
we can laugh for hours<br />
about our worries and our cares<br />
<br />
I see you now, it's morning<br />
you hair still tangled in the sun<br />
I'm silent, drinking coffee<br />
but your smile helps me run<br />
<br />
miles fly beneath us<br />
pain is nothing next to you<br />
the outline of your nose, your lips<br />
it's all a dream, it's true<br />
<br />
quiet things remembered<br />
the joy of things so small<br />
weekdays passing aimlessly<br />
the comfort when you call<br />
<br />
when I leave it's simple<br />
no goodbye, just see you soon<br />
eternity is still a distant thought<br />
from your front room<br />
<br />
the room where I should meet you<br />
the room where we should stay<br />
the room that doesn't have<br />
an empty seat for you that day<br />
<br />
the white house, as we pass it<br />
only lives in my rear view<br />
but now I have an image<br />
that I think is straight from you<br />
<br />
on the stairs of the white house<br />
a girl, she sits and waits<br />
she watches all the pieces of her heart<br />
approach the gates<br />
<br />
when my piece is ready<br />
when you get to call my name<br />
know that every day without you<br />
hasn't ever been the same<br />
<br />
with trembling I will climb them<br />
up the stairs, I'll see your face<br />
the only reason I can find<br />
He made the human race<br />
<br />
if there are really many rooms<br />
and I can earn a key<br />
this suffering is nothing<br />
if forever you're with me<br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">flesh and blood, I feel you</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">your cheeks so rosy red</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">on the stairs of our white house </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">no one here is dead</span><br />
<br />Amanda Hamilton http://www.blogger.com/profile/02146501142963323123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123354514830823908.post-9203754084030984722014-02-02T19:48:00.002-08:002014-02-02T19:50:18.255-08:00The Abiding Things<div>
When I walk in my school, there's a sign that reads,"Discamus Permanentia: Let us Learn the Abiding Things."</div>
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Abiding. Enduring. Long-lasting. Eternal. Let us learn the eternal things.</div>
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Sometimes, the last thing you think will make you happy turns out to fill your soul in ways you didn't know were possible.</div>
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I don't have much time to share this with ya'll, because I'm grading grammar tests instead of watching the super bowl or swooning over my favorite British TV show- but I have to tell you this. When you find something that brings you joy- real, every day, thick and thin joy- pinpoint what that is and fight for it.</div>
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I think about that quote every day. It gives me so much hope. </div>
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All the hard things about teaching- and there are hard things- are not abiding. The blood, vomit, snot, and tears pass. The crying over giving out detentions or having to raise your voice to a room full of screaming children also passes. You learn to smile when you answer the same question a thousand times. You rediscover your love of chocolate milk. You shout for joy over rescuing tiny mittens from an icy playground. You stop and realize you've been more alive in the past five months than you thought you could be again. </div>
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Yes, the hard things pass. You sleep less, you work more. Their failure is your failure. Their success is your success.</div>
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And something beautiful happens every day. Every single day...and those things are abiding.</div>
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The first time a student understands a concept they've been struggling with.</div>
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When a student tries again even though they're beat down and exhausted.</div>
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When they learn to help each other.</div>
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The look on their faces when they're dying to learn.</div>
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The hundreds of times they choose the right thing outweighs the one time they choose the wrong thing.</div>
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I didn't know teaching would be so hard. So fun. So heart-breakingly beautiful.</div>
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I didn't know it would change me. I sure didn't know I was dying to change.</div>
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The abiding things. I ache for them. They pound in my chest like blood runs through my veins.</div>
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God's mercy.</div>
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His protection and timing.</div>
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My family's love. </div>
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The loyalty of my friends; the death of our pride to love one another.</div>
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The look of trust in children's eyes when they look at me- and the fullness of responsibility and protection I feel for them that grows stronger every day.</div>
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I pray, even in a small measure, I can teach them the abiding things.<br />
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I hope I recognize the passing things in my own life.<br />
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Failure. Shame. Apathy. These are not eternal. It is a lie to believe our existence is measured in some cosmic list of our rights and wrongs. It will only be measured in love- in sacrifice- in genuine pursuit of truth. If nothing else, His love is abiding- and believing that changes everything.<br />
<br />
"Miss Hamilton, I can't do it."<br />
"Maybe not today- but that won't be forever. Let's look at it again."<br />
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This joy- such a gift I did not expect to find again- this is truly abiding, and I think it will change everything if I give it the chance. </div>
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Amanda Hamilton http://www.blogger.com/profile/02146501142963323123noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123354514830823908.post-4138366310893250142013-11-19T21:07:00.000-08:002013-11-19T21:22:56.676-08:00The 5 Best Lessons I learned from My MotherMy mother is an incredible woman. I don't tell her that enough.<br />
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In fact, I'll probably spend more time writing this post than I have actually spoken to her in the past few days....because I am selfish, tired and full of twenty-something year old angst.<br />
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But she will forgive me, because that's what moms do. She will smile and tell me to stop wasting time talking and just write. She will tell me to travel in my heart to wherever I need to go because she will always be here when I get back.<br />
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"I'm sorry I'm such a brat, " I will say. "Yes, but you're my brat," she says in return.<br />
<br />
So I've been writing a lot the past few days, and each time I do that, I remember three things a little more clearly:<br />
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Who I am. Who I've been. Who I want to be.<br />
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And when the dust settles she helps me remember it's okay if these three things don't match at all.<br />
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But no matter what, one thing is always true: when I imagine the woman I strive to be, each image looks more and more like her.<br />
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She says I'm stronger and smarter than she is. I think that's silly, because she taught me everything I know. I wish with all my heart that each person on Earth knows someone like my mother.<br />
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I'd love to share her with you. Our house is like a hotel, that's true, but for now....settle for some of my favorite lessons. I would not be me without them or without her.<br />
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<b>1. Learn How to Read a Map</b><br />
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Literally, go buy an atlas and keep it in the back of your car. There is no excuse to not make it exactly where you want to go. Do not settle for technology holding your hand. When there's traffic, you'll be long gone off-roading it on an alternate route because you can read a real ancient map. <br />
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Some of my earliest memories are driving in the car with my mom. Strong women can drive anywhere, anytime. Get your sleep, map, coffee, and music. Don't let anyone tell you that you can't. Every state on the East Coast is dog-eared in my weathered atlas because my mother raised me to do anything.<br />
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On a life scale, she taught me I would never be lost if I knew where I came from. She taught me to use my resources. There is rarely one route to a destination; the trick is being open to changing your plan. The more maps you read, the more likely you are to know where you're going.<br />
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There are maps everywhere. In people's eyes. In your gut feeling. In common sense. Read them. You don't have to wait in the traffic of life. Use your brain and find another way.<br />
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<b>2. Aim High in Steering</b><br />
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It seems like I spend all my time with her in the car. What can I say, we're women on the go.<br />
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When she was teaching me to drive, she would say, "aim high in steering," which meant...anticipate that stop light a hundred feet away and break accordingly. I'm still terrible at breaking smoothly.<br />
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This translates so perfectly because it means more than look ahead, it means see the big picture in front of you. It means raise your perspective to the horizon. Shoot, PAST the horizon.<br />
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I get caught up in the future so often. I worry. Looking ahead has never been my problem. But <i>seeing more</i>...this is such an important lesson.<br />
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When I aim high, I can see so much more than what's right in front of me. Any conflict, any heartache, any crossroad- there is always more. The world is such a lovely and enormous place.<br />
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Sometimes there's a semi in front of you and it's hard to aim high. So slow down. Take a breath. Everything will be clear soon. </div>
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"In the big scheme of your life, is this really going to matter?" she asks me. Only you will know the answer to that question.<br />
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<b>3. Adopt Family Members</b><br />
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I'm confident I could be just about anywhere on this planet (except perhaps the Arctic) and be in range of SOMEONE with deep loyalty to my mother who would come for me if I needed them.<br />
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I grew up with more aunts and uncles than humanly possible to have. Why? Because my mother's heart is very large and blood is not a family requirement. There are people of all ages, religions, races, and creeds in my phone that I call family because of her. Some people might think this is strange; I think it's the way life is supposed to be.<br />
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Aunt. Cousin. Friend. I am (or will be) honored to have those names. I hope it means the person saying them knows they could find me, day or night, and I will do anything I can to help them. I hope I never keep score. I hope there is no limit to my generosity or faith in people. I hope I never stop saying I love you. I hope I care for people half as well as she does.</div>
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<b>4. </b><b>Fear Nothing, Least of all Greatness</b><br />
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Some of you might be laughing because you know I am, in fact, afraid of many things. I am the token 'safety nut' in my group of friends and the word paranoid is not a far stretch. I like to think of myself as a worst-case scenario optimist.<br />
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Growing up near DC with my father in law enforcement provided an interesting childhood. We were taught to lock our doors, scan our surroundings, and be very careful with our trust. My mother is an extremely safe person, in many ways. I used to think this made me afraid of everything- but lately I've realized it only helped me face my fears.<br />
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Whether you're afraid or not- the world (though lovely) is a scary place. The choice is how we live with that fear. Ignore it, or worse, pretend the threat is not real- and you're likely to get hurt. The alternative? "You don't get scared, you get mad." If only I had a dollar for every time my parents said this. Things are less scary when you talk about them and have a plan. <br />
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So who cares if they did background checks before sleepovers and didn't let us wander too far from the block as kids? We sure as hell weren't talking to strangers. I could use more wilderness skills but I have a plan for most emergency scenarios and I'm proud to say that.<br />
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My mother, with her passwords and "parking lot safety," didn't teach me to be afraid; she taught me the <i>value of life</i>. And boy does she like living. She's one of the most fun and spontaneous people I've ever met.<br />
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She had me swimming at six months old. We bike, we run, we play laser tag in the dark. We love snorkeling and fishing on boats in the Florida keys. I've slept with her under the stars of mine fields in Germany and rocky fields of Spain. We dove in caves, zip lined and kayaked in Mexico. We've walked the streets of Italy, drank water from the depths of France, sunk to our knees and wept in Portugal. We've skipped school for midnight premieres, drove across the country with an hour's notice, and waited in many emergency rooms.<br />
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She helps me pack my bags to visit a new city. She googles directions from Maryland when I make a wrong turn in Florida. She helps me pick up the pieces when my heart is broken and try again. She likes to sing with the windows down. We can never see too many beaches. She is a problem solver, make it happen kind of woman.<br />
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She taught me what on Earth is worth dying for- so that pain and suffering seemed less terrifying if death was just the beginning. God willing I never have to prove it- but she raised me to be a fighter.<br />
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I think that's why most of all my mother hates when I make myself small. Not the small we all actually are- in comparison to the universe- but the inadequate small.<br />
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It's true we are imperfect. There is freedom in accepting we will never earn our existence. In this way, we are small but it is beautiful. Similar to the feeling I get when I look out a plane window at the clouds or get swept into the ocean.<br />
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The lie is to believe those who are small can not also be great. Greatness, for her, is more than success. It is being the best version of yourself. Sometimes this is scary.<br />
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The fear of failure is paralyzing. The sting of hypocrisy chips away at my hope. I often feel like I take one step forward and two steps back.<br />
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"Oh well," I hear her say. "Your failures do not define you. You have right now. Try it again."<br />
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Do not be afraid of greatness. There is only one <i>you</i>. <br />
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<b>5. Pray So Much It's like Breathing</b><br />
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My grandma Clem, when she wasn't singing in Italian, prayed the rosary all day long. She had those beads wrapped around her fingers so tight I thought they might break.<br />
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It's a habit she passed down to my mother, and I'm grateful for my mother's prayers. She prays for me, for all of you. She humbles me with her strong belief in the power of prayer. It's something I wish I had more of.<br />
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I'm most grateful for her example of constant, everyday, informal prayer. She talks to God a lot. She speaks to her mother, her siblings, and her friends who have gone home before us. There will be a line to greet her in heaven. <br />
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From an early age, she helped me see God in everything. She helped me begin to speak to Him. She prays like she breathes- it just happens without trying.<br />
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She also instilled in us a deep respect for religion and tradition, two things that are so often mocked today. Whether we were at mass, a church service with our cousins, or the temple with our uncle- we were respectful. We were honored to be in the presence of Buddhist Monks and admire the shrines of our Hindu friends. We thanked the Mayan priest for his blessings in a cloud of smoke before we climbed into a cave. She taught us there were no limits to God's love. No human beings without His image.<br />
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I don't really care if people call us holy rollers. This is America and we'll beg for mercy all we can.<br />
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I hope when I have children I am as faithful as my mother and can pass down her wise words.<br />
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Mom, I'm scared.<br />
Then pray the Rosary as you fall asleep and Mary will protect you.<br />
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Mom, I really messed up.<br />
Good thing Jesus makes all things new.<br />
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Mom, I don't know what the right thing is.<br />
Ask God and He will help you decide.<br />
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Mom, I'm worried.<br />
Trust Him.<br />
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Mom, I don't feel anything.<br />
Be still, and know that He is God.<br />
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Mom, sometimes I don't believe in God. Sometimes I don't believe He cares.<br />
You know what I'm going to say. Our favorite saying. He still believes in you.<br />
<br /></div>
Amanda Hamilton http://www.blogger.com/profile/02146501142963323123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123354514830823908.post-11714655093575603222013-10-28T21:00:00.001-07:002013-10-28T21:00:44.994-07:00When the Gopsel Punches You in the FaceSo it's my last week teaching 7th grade.<br />
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I was very fortunate to pick up a long-term sub position at an excellent Catholic Academy just outside of Washington, DC. Over the past 8 weeks, I've been dying to write, but have scarcely had the time.<br />
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Teaching boot camp, as I've fondly been calling it, has been a wonderful experience. I will tell you all about it another time and how much it has changed me, stretched me, awakened me. <br />
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I mention it now to explain my lack of blogs. I feel certain you can smell the chalk all over me and might realize I've forgotten my name is Amanda, after being called Miss Hamilton a million times.<br />
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But this week. This Sunday. My gosh. I have to share this. It's burning in my heart and I can't sleep.<br />
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I've spoken to a few friends about how deeply the Gospel struck me in mass this past Sunday. I felt as if I'd been sleeping for a long time, and woke up hanging from the reins of a horse off the top of a sky scraper (yes, just like in the movie "true lies"). It was a wake-up call; one that I hope to experience every day for the rest of my life.<br />
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We read the contrasting story of the Pharisee and the Tax collector. It's short so I will post it here:<br />
<h3 style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 24px; font-weight: 500; line-height: 1.1; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 20px;">
<em style="box-sizing: border-box;">Luke 18:9-14</em></h3>
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<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; line-height: 0; position: relative; top: -0.5em; vertical-align: baseline;">9</span> He spoke the following parable to some people who prided themselves on being upright and despised everyone else,</div>
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<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; line-height: 0; position: relative; top: -0.5em; vertical-align: baseline;">10</span> 'Two men went up to the <a href="http://www.catholic.org/encyclopedia/view.php?id=11357" style="-webkit-transition: all 0.3s ease; box-sizing: border-box; color: #fd1b14; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.3s ease;">Temple</a> to pray, one a Pharisee, the other a tax collector.</div>
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<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; line-height: 0; position: relative; top: -0.5em; vertical-align: baseline;">11</span> The Pharisee stood there and said this <a href="http://www.catholic.org/prayers" style="-webkit-transition: all 0.3s ease; box-sizing: border-box; color: #fd1b14; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.3s ease;">prayer</a> to himself, "I thank you, God, that I am not grasping, unjust, adulterous like everyone else, and particularly that I am not like this tax collector here.</div>
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<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; line-height: 0; position: relative; top: -0.5em; vertical-align: baseline;">12</span> I <a href="http://www.catholic.org/encyclopedia/view.php?id=4582" style="-webkit-transition: all 0.3s ease; box-sizing: border-box; color: #fd1b14; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.3s ease;">fast</a> twice a week; I pay <a href="http://www.catholic.org/encyclopedia/view.php?id=11586" style="-webkit-transition: all 0.3s ease; box-sizing: border-box; color: #fd1b14; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.3s ease;">tithes</a> on all I get."</div>
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<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; line-height: 0; position: relative; top: -0.5em; vertical-align: baseline;">13</span> The tax collector stood some distance away, not daring even to raise his eyes to heaven; but he beat his breast and said, "God, be merciful to me, a sinner."</div>
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<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; line-height: 0; position: relative; top: -0.5em; vertical-align: baseline;">14</span> This man, I tell you, went home again justified; the other did not. For everyone who raises himself up<a href="http://www.catholic.org/encyclopedia/view.php?id=12332" style="-webkit-transition: all 0.3s ease; box-sizing: border-box; color: #fd1b14; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.3s ease;">will</a> be humbled, but anyone who humbles himself <a href="http://www.catholic.org/encyclopedia/view.php?id=12332" style="-webkit-transition: all 0.3s ease; box-sizing: border-box; color: #fd1b14; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.3s ease;">will</a> be raised up.'</div>
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I stood there as it was read.<br />
I listened intently.<br />
I felt blood rush to my cheeks.<br />
My stomach dropped.<br />
I felt ashamed.<br />
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I am like the Pharisee.<br />
<br />
Crap!<br />
<br />
I am so often like the Pharisee in this parable.<br />
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It humbled me to reflect on how many times I had prayed the same words: "Thank you, God, that I am not like those people."<br />
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I know. I'm embarrassed. I should be.<br />
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Those with poor educations. Those with addictions. Those with low self esteems or terrible friends. The list could go on.<br />
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Somehow I had slipped into the disorder of affirming my own life by pitying the misfortunes of others. This is not sanctified. This is not loving. I doubt God is pleased to hear any sentiment that begins with, "At least I am not blah blah blah."<br />
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As I sat down mortified, I thought of the tax collector. He did not even dare to raise his eyes to Heaven.<br />
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I believe we are all the Pharisee; I believe we are all the tax collector.<br />
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As often as I am prideful, hypocritical and selfish.... I am also my harshest critic. I'm keenly aware of my faults. We all are.<br />
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It is a genuine desire for God that brings us to this place in the middle. Walking the line between confidence and pride, for me, is like a tight rope.<br />
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There is nothing wrong with thanking God for our lives. I doubt I will ever look upon someone less fortunate without a deeper appreciation for my own life welling up inside me. Deep gratitude for our existence is essential for joy to conquer.<br />
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But to judge ourselves compared to other people; to see others as less holy; as less deserving of God's love, or even our own time or attention...this is unacceptable.<br />
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May I never use the phrase, "At least I am this," or "at least I am not that," ever again.<br />
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That attitude sells me short. It sells humanity short. Most of all, it puts some sort of measurement on God's grace, which has no limit.<br />
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I don't want the "least" of anything. Not in friendship, not in my career, not in love. <br />
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I don't want to offer God enough to feel good; to feel like it's enough.<br />
<br />
I want Him to take everything I have. Take my best. Take my most.<br />
<br />
He will show me the woman I can be when I let Him in.<br />
<br />
The Priest summed it up well. Sinners go to Church. Our presence there is no great token to God. <br />
<br />
May our hearts always be honest before Him. May our prayers only be, "God, I beg for your mercy, " instead of, "God, I'm awesome and I showed up so everyone else can see."<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Amanda Hamilton http://www.blogger.com/profile/02146501142963323123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123354514830823908.post-92082651177548714862013-07-24T20:51:00.003-07:002013-07-25T09:37:28.131-07:00"Anesthesia of the Heart"<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Every day in the ten minutes it takes to walk from the metro to my building, I see at least twenty homeless people. Men, women, children. They are hungry; hot; dehydrated; dirty; poorly clothed. Sometimes I give them change; sometimes if I have food to spare I'll leave it; most times I can only leave a smile and nod.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">So let me be honest. I start to get numb. When you see them everyday, it's so easy to walk past them without even noticing. Human beings fade into the scenery and it seems normal. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I look around in the twilight zone and buses are zooming by, people are walking briskly like robots, everyone is screaming over traffic on their cell phones, crying kids are being dragged down the street, bikers are ringing bells, construction workers are drilling...and everyone is afraid to make eye contact...with anyone else.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">In the chaos, sometimes I just stop and look. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">This might sound strange, but it's painful. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">When I look at other people, I see joy, but mostly I just see suffering. Real, tangible, difficult suffering. It just feels so heavy and I can never wrap my head around it. It seems like no one cares. Most of the time, I don't even care. We're too tired. It's not our concern. We're just trying to get by.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Then it's hard for me to grasp how God can love <i>so many</i> people; how He loves us all the same no matter what we do or who we are. I spend hours thinking about it but I'll never understand.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Things I fail to understand amaze me; they're the only things worth living for and the only things that can really make me mad.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">On one hand, God's unconditional love for us is perfect. It feels like home. It's literally heaven.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">On the other hand, in my weakness, as if we can compare ourselves to Him, I'm so frustrated by all the ways we fail to love...all the conditions I put on my love, even when I'm dying not to. Sometimes trying to care for people feels like climbing Mount Everest barefoot. Why is it so hard to do?</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">This brings me to two places. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">A, a dear friend sent me a homily Pope Francis gave that affirmed I - and the many of you I'm sure have similar notions that trouble you- are not alone in our concern for humanity's depart from union with each other.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And B, another dear friend gave me a gem the other day I'd like to share that I think goes hand in hand with this topic. I was complaining about something or other being hard and she replied, "What is <i>easy</i>?"</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Pope Francis visited an Italian island called Lampedusa earlier this month to say a memorial mass for the African immigrants who died trying to reach Europe. The full link to his homily is<span style="background-color: white;"> <a href="http://en.radiovaticana.va/news/2013/07/08/pope_on_lampedusa:_%E2%80%9Cthe_globalization_of_indifference%E2%80%9D/en1-708541"><span style="color: cyan;">here.</span></a> </span></span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In it he said:</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"The culture of well-being, that makes us think of ourselves, that makes us insensitive to the cries of others, that makes us live in soap bubbles, that are beautiful but are nothing, are illusions of futility, of the transient, that brings indifference to others, that brings even the globalization of indifference."</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Globalization of indifference. Yikes. I've never been able to put my finger on it, but that rings a bell. He goes on:</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">"We ask forgiveness for the indifference towards so many brothers and sisters, we ask forgiveness for those who are pleased with themselves, who are closed in on their own well-being in a way that leads to the anesthesia of the heart."</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">That last part really got me, and reminded me of my friend's advice. She asked me what was easy. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It's easy to anesthetize our hearts. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">In fact, it's the normal reaction to fear. Maybe if we don't feel as much, it won't hurt as much when something painful happens. Like when a loved one dies; or the person you love doesn't love you back; or you have to confront the real presence of evil in the world and the swings it will take at your faith.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">But life is not a procedure we need anesthesia to pull through.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Life is this stunning, messy, unpredictable precious gift; and our hearts can weather many storms.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The numbness used to comfort me. If you're still in that place, I promise you, it will pass. If you ask, He will lead you out of any darkness. And if you're kicking and screaming, trust me, He is patient. He will awaken your soul gently and you will feel the blood run through your veins with joy again.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"The easy path is not worth walking." I saw that engraved on an antique wedding ring a few weeks ago. (Which is awesome.)</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It's funny. Lately is the first time I've considered "the easy path" is not just a cop-out, it's a burden. It doesn't even pull its own weight. You don't break even. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">A numb heart does not pull its own weight. I would rather bleed out every last drop, loving with all my heart, than retreat to its shallow beating. I have never regretted feeling too much; only when I stopped myself from feeling at all.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I want to take the hard path. Every day. In all ways. Because we can. We can help each other do it. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Difficulty is real. Every person struggles with different things- that's what makes it beautiful and worth it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"></span> </div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">For me, it is </span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">hard to maintain kindness to others; hard to keep applying for other jobs; hard to eat healthy and exercise; hard to keep hope in my dreams when they seem so far; hard to pray...the hardest to trust God.</span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">But difficulty is not an excuse, it's the gift of motivation. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Let's keep fighting for friendships Let's keep protecting our families and holding them close. Let's keep doing our parts to build an American culture worth dying for.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Most of the time we won't be moving mountains. I have to remind myself, since I am not God, I can not love everyone at all times. So start with yourself. Start with the person in front of you. That homeless man on the street; your chatty neighbor; your unruly co-worker; your tired spouse; the new girl in class.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">May God call us out of ourselves and keep our hearts awake. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">May He protect us from this plague of indifference.</span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
(And as a tiny favor, may He take some of my personal maddening jealousy for all the pilgrims at World Youth Day in Rio. Honestly, I can't even talk about it. First born child watch out, your name will probably be Francis.)</div>
Amanda Hamilton http://www.blogger.com/profile/02146501142963323123noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123354514830823908.post-20397565757216627832013-03-26T21:39:00.003-07:002013-03-27T05:57:25.312-07:00Time to Ditch Your Measuring Sticks<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve been trying to write this blog for weeks. As a quasi-perfectionist by nature, each
draft has simply fallen short. I don’t know if it’s because I’m having a tough Lent
(tough as in lazy verging on non-existent)…or if this topic has, in fact, been the main focus of my Lent; so it’s tough to express accurately. It’s the topic of
measurement. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In this strange transition out of college, I struggle a lot
with how I measure myself. All the tangible ways I found my value have been
ripped from under me. No more papers. No more exams. No more classes to ace
half asleep. Many of my awesome friends- a direct reminder of my worth- are miles
away. I left a job I loved; a place
where I worked hard and felt truly treasured; where I saw visible fruits of my
labor. I left my first apartment, a
beacon of independence and self expression. I left pieces of my heart with good
men, no longer there as part of my identity. I left my beloved state of
Florida, whose soil has mixed with my soul and whose spirit runs through my
veins, giving me a sense of peace about the world. I left the altars and quiet chapels where I
fell deeper in love with God. I left the town I really grew up in- and all its
affirmation, its encouragement that I know who I am- had to travel a thousand
miles north.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the perfect summer after graduation, full of lazy river
floats, lots of wine and sandy clothes, I remember saying to my friends, “I’m
nervous, guys. Because when I move home, I’ll find out if I really am who I
think I am.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sensed then, without knowing exactly, that my view of
myself was about to be challenged. All the ways I calculated my value- let’s
call them measuring sticks of life- were about to experience a huge shift in
data. At first, I thought my measuring sticks would disappear, or that I would
get new ones. You know- more adult
scales- but that wasn’t true. The ways I measure myself are exactly the same;
the only difference is now, when I’m alone, I see how destructive they are. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These are my measuring sticks.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Success.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m 22 years old. I have two bachelor’s degrees. I’m smart,
outgoing, and hard-working. Still, I’m not sure what career I want to pursue.
I’ve transitioned through 3 temporary jobs in 8 months. Graduating simultaneously
feels like yesterday and a vague thought from a different life. And when I’m
honest, in many ways I still feel like a child.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I see my peers on different paths. Getting married. Having
kids. Working full time jobs with their own apartments. Making tons of
money. Just when I’m confident I know
what I want, I start to feel like I’m not enough. I start to question all the sacrifices I’ve
made for the lifestyle I want; I wonder if I’m wasting time, wasting my
talents. I always feel like I’m waiting.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Beauty.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes it’s tough having such smokin’ hot friends. Especially when they’re beautiful inside and
out. We’re told beauty is fleeting; that vanity is unbecoming. It’s true; I
hope I can always be ready to leave in 10 minutes and care more about my brain
than my lack of makeup. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yet still, I’ll be honest- feeling beautiful and
desirable as a woman plays a huge role in how I view myself. We dress ourselves every morning; I know I
think about it. Oh, I’m having a bad
hair day; I feel bloated; these bags under my eyes make me look old; I need to
whiten my teeth; I should have worn another shirt….the list goes on and on. The
questions roll in like poison, too. Am I pretty enough to date this guy or run
in this circle of friends? Will men prefer my friends to me because they’re so
beautiful? Or any other woman for that matter? They’re petty questions- with
obvious answers- and still, they always pop into my mind.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m openly careful with my weight, too. I’ve lost thirty
pounds on weight watchers…but for me it’s still not enough. My healthy body now
seems fat again. It’s never enough to stop and see how far I’ve come. Those
last twenty pounds seem like fifty.
Everything will be better when I slip into those jeans a size down. But
isn’t that what I said about the jeans that are getting lose now?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Fitness.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My effort to stay thin, certainly vanity in part, is mostly
the desire to stay healthy. I work really hard to stay active because there’s a
direct positive correlation with my joy and quality of life. It hurts me to
stay inside when I could be outside. So I get into biking; I try skiing; I keep
jogging; I never turn down hiking. I kick-box and swim anywhere there’s water.
And I love it…but I always want more. I’m okay at everything- but not really an
expert in anything. I see other girls at the gym killing it in basketball or
running laps around me. I know incredible athletes- and I’m so happy for them-
but it sucks to feel stuck on the JV team of life- scared of heights, pretty
uncoordinated and generally slow.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Adventure.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m an addict for new places. I can’t get enough new
experiences. Camping at the Grand Canyon; walking through the red wood forest;
ice fishing in Alaska; looking out from the top of the Eiffel tower; driving
the coast of California…those are just some from my bucket list. There are so
many places I want to go and things I want to do! I start to feel
irresponsible- sometimes placing more value in my external environment than my
internal peace. I ache for freedom, for adventure- sometimes as the cost of
relationships, or simply ignoring issues in my life I should take time to
examine.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Holiness.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes we’re made to feel like holiness comes in a
visible package. If we do this or say that, or follow these rules, we’ll be
holy. As if God could love us any more or less depending on our outward
appearances. In college, and even sometimes now, I worried so much about
fitting into a mold of holiness that crippled me. Sometimes I’m so busy
comparing myself to others, I start to accept a negative view of myself: I cuss
too much; I’m aggressive and vulgar; I enjoy the occasional drink and smoke, I
question authority and definitely like kissing men…so there must be something wrong with me. I’m
extremely private about my prayer and communion with God so it must be
non-existent. I’m not devoting enough time helping others. I’m letting God down
if I don’t do x, y, z.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So those are the extreme negative measurements…but I think
you get my point. I don’t lie in bed at night and give myself a grade in each
category. But it is the little daily things that add up. That slight pang of jealousy when someone you
know lands their dream job, or gets accepted into their dream grad
program. That moment when I find another
grey hair or notice my skin is no longer seventeen. All the times I have to
move over and avoid crashing when faster bikers race past me screaming, “Left!” The hours I spend working on a computer,
really dreaming of blue water and clear skies in a foreign place. The times when I’m too tired to pray, or
simply don’t feel like talking to God.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I measure myself on such harsh, material scales, it’s
no wonder I constantly fall short. So why is it I put myself through such
scrutiny? I <i>know</i> in my mind the positive
measurements on these scales- so why do I not feel it in my heart? Where did I
get these scales? What good can come from this evaluation?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All these questions have been in my mind lately. Now, I’m
not really one to quote scripture. I don’t know why, but it always sort of
makes me blush. It feels so personal. But this past Palm Sunday, we read Luke’s
gospel in mass and this one part always brings me to tears. If I had nothing
else but this passage, it would touch me differently each day forever.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s the part when the repentant criminal on Christ’s side
rebukes the other derisive criminal, Luke 23:40-43.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“Do you not fear God,
since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? We indeed have been
condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this
man has done nothing wrong.” Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come
into your kingdom.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It struck me deeply because I realized, in a way, this is a
measurement. The repentant thief measures his actions and takes responsibility.
But this next part, this is what’s really important. Jesus doesn’t say, “You’re
right, you’re guilty, I can’t help you.” Instead he says words that change the
world; that I need to get out of bed every morning; the only words that renew
my hope in something more than my failures. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He says, <i>“Truly, I
tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And in these precious, few moments of clarity, I realize all
these measurements are empty if they have no hope. They have some value; ambition
for success, happiness, joy- these are healthy desires- but not without this
perspective. Not without the deep and unwavering belief that God loves us just
as we are.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Success.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have the love of two amazing parents, a brother and
sister-in-law, and countless family members. I’m a damn good friend where I
root my loyalty, and I know I have friends who would die for me. I’m a pretty good writer- must be if you made
it this far. I believe the purpose of
this life is to make it back to God, and I count that gift as a success. I want
for nothing. I’m successful in so many ways.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Beauty.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have a beautiful, healthy body and mind. On the outside my
mama gave me big ole’ baby browns, killer hair and ladylike curves. On the inside, she gave me a fire that’s
always burning, reminding me what I look like has little to do with who I am,
and to expect that attitude in others. God did design the human body so
beautifully, so creatively. It’s normal to appreciate that; but when I get past
that initial thought, and consider the whole person, I see it is people’s hearts
that are <i>so beautiful</i>. Sacrifice,
kindness, forgiveness- these are the only types of beauty that last. Romance
will fall and rise like the tides until it's time to dock. And that will only
happen with a man who can see with more than just his eyes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Fitness.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Um, hello. I can jog five miles when I once could not. I
survived a ski left. (Let’s choose our battles, Amanda.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Adventure.</b><br />
<b><o:p></o:p></b> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Again, girl please. Florida. Chicago. Boston. Philadelphia.
HAWAII. No one feels bad for me. I save every penny to blow it on trips.
Because it’s worth it. Rest of the main land United States, here I come. Oahu,
wait for me. I will always love you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But seriously. The best adventures I’ve taken are journeys
with other human souls. No where on earth could replace the people I love. The
land beneath our feet should only lead us to one another.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Holiness.</b><br />
<b><o:p></o:p></b> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
God loved me, each of you, into being; I think that sums it
up. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I just want to break my measuring sticks in half. For me and
all the other people I measure with them. He will never tell us we’re not enough.
Instead I want to ask myself only one question- am I humbly and fervently asking
Christ to remember me in His kingdom? Because His answer always sets me free.</div>
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<o:p> </o:p> </div>
Amanda Hamilton http://www.blogger.com/profile/02146501142963323123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123354514830823908.post-53454893778739712692013-02-14T20:34:00.001-08:002013-02-14T21:51:04.024-08:00"We Seemed To Be Two Bodies With A Single Spirit"<br />
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<i>"In our earthly life, next to the love of parents and siblings, one of the best expressions of affection is friendship. Every day, I thank God for giving me such good friends, who are a precious guide for my life." </i></div>
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<i>-Blessed Pier Giorgio Frassati</i></div>
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Yesterday I finished Pier Giorgio’s biography with teary eyes on the metro. I knew it would end with his sudden and young death and still it caught me off guard. The story of his life- “an ordinary Christian” -is really amazing. He’s known for his compassion and charity, caring for “his poor” with all his heart and strength in God’s name. </div>
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He was athletic, funny, handsome; respectful and humble; he pulled friendly pranks and got in fist fights, though he climbed a mountain each morning to receive the Eucharist and served the poor in secret. He’s admirable for too many reasons to start listing. It’s clear why JPII calls him a saint for the young.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Yet out of everything, two things struck me the most about him: his deep and real affection for his friends and his constant awareness of death. For me- the two are inevitably related. I find the deepest, most satisfying friendships are those rooted in the fact this life is fleeting. When I first met death, my initial responses were anger and fear. I thought it would be better to never love anyone that much again, if loss could feel like that.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It was frankly an obstacle in all of my relationships. It’s hard to get close to anyone, fearing they will die and another part of you will die again. It takes time to move past the feeling like your loved one dies each day again.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My family and my dear friends from childhood were already etched in my heart indelibly. I would love them unto death, for sure. It was everyone else. At eighteen, I felt I had no room left in my heart. As I moved to Florida alone, I knew I would have to make friends- but they would never have to know. How could they know I was a robot? It was a chance to start fresh, where I could really start over, keeping everyone around me at arm’s length. (Ha. That really worked out.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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As time went on, the numbness started to fade. Life tends to fling us forward even when we’re busy looking back. I prayed for the fear to subside, to feel again, to let myself care for others the way my heart longed to. I thought I would somehow get back to “normal.” Frankly, He had other plans for me. I felt as if the embers of my heart had turned to stone. So instead of relighting the flame, He just set my whole life on fire….burning lifelong friends deep into my heart. He sent me to people I couldn’t ignore; whose smiles were too joyful; whose laughs slowly sunk into my soul; whose passions were too strong to ever let me go.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The friendships I formed in college- either with new friends, or building on maturing friendships from home- saved my life. He’s given me people I’ve loved more than I knew was possible, and who love me in return, sometimes more than I deserve. They helped me see I was afraid of the wrong thing: death is not our enemy, but rather lacking something to die for.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Friendship….real, hard, wonderful friendship….that’s worth dying for.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Back in January, in the office of the readings, there was an excerpt from one of St. Gregory Nazianzen’s sermons about his friendship with Basil the Great. It’s really quite moving, a link for the readings is at the bottom. Here are my favorite parts:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>“Basil and I were both in Athens. We had come, like streams of a river, from the same source in our native land, had separated from each other in pursuit of learning, and were now united again as if by plan, for God so arranged it.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>When, in the course of time, we acknowledged our friendship and recognized that our ambition was a life of true wisdom, we became everything to each other: we shared the same lodging, the same table, the same desires the same goal. Our love for each other grew daily warmer and deeper.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>Between us there was no envy. On the contrary, we made capital out of our rivalry. Our rivalry consisted, not in seeking the first place for oneself but in yielding it to the other, for we each looked on the other’s success as his own.</i><i><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>We seemed to be two bodies with a single spirit.</i><br />
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<i>Our single object and ambition was virtue, and a life of hope in the blessings that are to come; we wanted to withdraw from this world before we departed from it. With this end in view we ordered our lives and all our actions. We followed the guidance of God’s law and spurred each other on to virtue. If it is not too boastful to say, we found in each other a standard and rule for discerning right from wrong.</i><br />
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<i> </i><i>Different men have different names, which they owe to their parents or to themselves, that is, to their own pursuits and achievements. But our great pursuit, the great name we wanted, was to be Christians, to be called Christians.”</i></div>
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It’s just beautiful. These words are often in my mind, for as much as I think of my friends, which is a lot. I stand constantly in awe of them- and we all appreciate the value we have found in one another- but reading Pier Giorgio’s biography let it really sit in my soul.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I have incredible friends. And if you’re reading this, you’re probably one of them.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Pier Giorgio’s satirical name for the group of friends he climbed mountains with was the “shady characters society.” It’s nice to know even saints have their favorites…and silly names for them. He said, “We believe that even when we reach the tomb, the 'shady characters' will remember each other in prayer.” Surely, his friends mourned his passing greatly. Their descriptions of his irreplaceable spirit, his "purifying joy," make that clear. Yet they knew, out of them all, he was always prepared for that day to come. <o:p></o:p></div>
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He once said after experiencing the death of a classmate, "Since one never knows when death will come to take us away, it is wise to prepare ourselves each day as if it were our last. Therefore, from now on I am going to try to do a little something each day to prepare myself for death, so that when death finally does come I will not be caught unprepared and regret those wonderful years of youth wasted from a spiritual point of view."</div>
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With my friends, I am alive again, because they point me back to Him. When life is really hard and we question everything we believe in, everything we give our lives for, everything we die for, they say, “Hey, I know this sucks, but it's worth it. Everything will be okay.” They teach me patience, loyalty, fortitude, charity. They teach me how to pray, how to forgive, how to let go, how to love.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So thank you, my dear friends. I think you know what you mean to me. Your faces are in my mind when I wake up and my prayers when I lay down at night. This post is getting long- so next time I’ll expand on how to be a kick-ass friend like you. I could really go on for days. For now, know I’m thinking of you always. Happy Valentine’s Day (the joke holiday before we drink with St. Patty…. Just kidding. Sorry St. Valentine- your (assumed real) martyrdom epitomizes my entire point, actually.) Long live friendship and consumer driven holidays.<o:p></o:p></div>
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*Biography: <i>Blessed Pier Giorgio Frassati, An Ordinary Christian</i>, by Maria di Lorenzo</div>
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(Toward the bottom of page: <a href="http://www.liturgies.net/saints/basil/readings.htm">Sts. Gregory and Basil, Jan 2nd</a>)</div>
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Amanda Hamilton http://www.blogger.com/profile/02146501142963323123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123354514830823908.post-10763680605974081772013-02-09T21:27:00.000-08:002013-02-09T21:27:01.942-08:00Shaking Mittens with Mat Kearney<br />
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Thursday I had the great privilege of seeing one of my
favorite musicians, Mat Kearney, live at the Lisner Auditorium at George
Washington University in DC. The show
was spectacular like I knew it would be. If you’re not familiar with Mat’s
music…you need to be. Go YouTube it right now; better yet, just buy his albums
outright, you’ll thank me.</div>
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I danced, sang, and cried the entire concert because I was
so happy. I’m forever indebted to my friends who introduced me to this music. I
like a lot of music; I <i>love</i> and feel personally
connected to few songs. Yet in my short life, many of those songs have been Mat
Kearney’s. Like Mumford and Sons,
Boston, Josh Groban- to name a few others- this is good, quality music. You can’t
just listen to this music; experience it, feel it, breathe it in. Without fear
of sounding batty because it’s just true- listening to music can be a legit spiritual
experience when it speaks to your soul and seems to recognize your very
existence. </div>
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So the concert was amazing. But my favorite part of the
night was something a little better, namely, shaking hands with Mat himself on
the street.</div>
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Imagine this: my Thursday had been long. The metro rides
were crowded, I worked all day, my papercut hands and blistered feet were just
annoying, and I was starving. Waking up that day to see Mat Kearney was my only
consolation to a twitching eye from lack of sleep. </div>
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It was a few hours before the concert. I got to GW early,
waiting on my mom and friend, Kelliann, to take the metro into town after work
as well. I had an hour to kill, so I bundled up and started wandering, looking
for a place to eat a few blocks from the concert hall. As I got off the metro,
I remember thinking to myself, “<i>Mat seems
so cool and down to earth. I bet he’s wandering around the city, too, with a
coffee or something, like a normal person.”</i> I hastily shook any ideas of meeting
him out of my head; but secretly, deep in my heart, I wished it. It would be so
cool to say, “Your music really helps a lot of people. It helps me believe in
God and in humanity. I’m really glad you’re alive, Mat Kearney, and I hope you
have an awesome life.” You know… if I ever had the chance, that’s what I would
say.</div>
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So I walked and walked. Took in the university, a part of
town I had never seen; smiled at an old couple holding hands, exchanging a
sweet little kiss as we waited to cross the street; and wandered alone for a
good thirty minutes. I thought of my friends in Florida and how much I miss
them. I thought about my broken heart and wondered if it would always be like
this. I thought about how much God loves me and how I rarely see it because I’m
such a brat.</div>
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And as I turned around to head back to the metro, a sudden
and deep sadness came over me in a striking pang. The kind that hurts and takes
your breath away, and the more you’re annoyed with your own weakness, the more
it hurts. So many of the things I don’t understand just welled up inside me at
once. I felt like a foreigner in this town that’s supposed to feel like home; I
felt too cold for my heart to breathe; in some strange way, I simply felt
alone.</div>
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Just then, as I fought back tears, hands shoved in my pockets,
looking at the ground, I noticed a group of men approaching on the sidewalk. I
looked up to see the best way to get around them…and, let’s be real, what girl doesn't look up at a group of men walking by, and suddenly, as if I were
dreaming, Mat Kearney and his band appeared, in one large wave, coming straight
at me.</div>
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Now, I’m a pretty confident woman. I can hardly remember a
time I didn't know what to say or was too nervous to speak, but <i>this</i> moment, of sheer joy and surprise,
hit me so hard in such contrast to my previous moment, I could barely stand.</div>
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Everything happened in about 15 seconds. They approached, I
stood like a brick wall, grinning from ear to ear like a huge idiot on the
sidewalk. He was just like I thought he
would be- confident, cool, normal looking. I assumed they were looking for some
eats before the show. </div>
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It happened so fast that all of this is blurry. I
approached, muttering something like, “Mat! Oh my gosh, I’m so excited for the
show, I can’t wait to hear you guys. You’re so great, I just love you, my name
is Amanda, I’m so happy.”</div>
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The poor guy was on the phone, on his way to enjoy the few
precious minutes of his free time. I remember wondering if he was on the phone
with his wife and just feeling so happy- I wish I could have screamed out that
I love her too, and I’m so thankful she’s alive for him to love- because the
songs he writes about her are so wonderful. I could feel myself freezing up,
just smiling like a crazy person and trying to process such an innocent moment
of pure joy. I could feel his band members looking at me, probably laughing,
but I honestly didn't even care.</div>
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He was so kind, to pause a minute and shake my hand. I
extended my blue fuzzy mitten to shake the hand of such a talented man. I said,
“My name’s Amanda”, and he smiled. And for me that was enough. </div>
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I stepped aside, dazed, and ushered them to continue on- “You’re
probably eating or something, I’m sorry, please enjoy your time before the
show, I can’t wait,” I said, and he turned to wave goodbye.</div>
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Then I stood there for a whole minute, just smiling and
crying, taking in the feeling that for me, felt like love. Love for Mat Kearney, yes, but mostly for God.
Mat’s music is awesome and he’s awesome- evident in his extreme kindness toward
speechless fans- but I wasn't speechless because I love Mat Kearney- I was
speechless because meeting him wasn't an accident. I often feel like a lucky
person, when in reality I’m just very loved by God and every once in a while,
when I doubt Him, His gestures are pretty grand.</div>
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I didn't say ANY of the things I wish I had said, but that’s
okay. The crowd showed him the love he deserves and he must know how much his
music means to people. He said at the concert that his music is his way of
processing his life- how he makes sense of it all- and I laughed thinking, wow,
it’s how I process a lot, too.</div>
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So Mat, if by chance you’re reading this because I’m totally
tagging you on FaceBook and Twitter, thanks for being so nice to that girl on
the sidewalk. I’m not some crazy groupie- but meeting you felt like seeing an
old friend for the first time in a long time, and I was struck down by the wonders
of this crazy life. It may have meant meeting another fan to you, but it meant
a lot to me. I’m so very grateful for your work, and that you share your heart
with so many. I pray your life is everything you want it to be, and for your
family. My father was in the Air Force and he was gone a lot of my childhood;
your life on the road must not be easy- know it is appreciated.</div>
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Your music sets the bar for what we expect out of life: friendships worth dying for; love worth fighting for; joy worth working for.
Thank you. Some of my friends love your music so much, they pray for a spot
next to you in Heaven so we can hear you sing forever. So keep it real, man, and don't let Hollywood take anything from you. </div>
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(For my dream life I'm saving money to hire you for my wedding music. I will save A LOT and plan around your tour. It will be the best wedding ever, and everyone will be watching you so me and my husband can leave the reception early, thank God. You'll hear from me in 5-7 years.)</div>
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So my friends, when you think He’s not listening- He really,
really is. This was the equivalent of a million roses and chocolate for a year-
but hey- I’ll take it. When a man loves a woman, he gets to know her heart. </div>
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(My favorite Mat Kearney songs include: Crashing Down, Fire
and Rain, Hey Mama, Ships in the Night, Here We Go, She Got the Honey, Runaway,
Young Dumb and in Love. Enjoy.) </div>
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<o:p> </o:p><o:p> </o:p><b> </b></div>
Amanda Hamilton http://www.blogger.com/profile/02146501142963323123noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123354514830823908.post-7274195893566278792013-01-29T20:18:00.000-08:002013-02-02T22:14:09.854-08:00What Kind of Pro-Life Generation Are We?<br />
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Last week marked the 40<sup>th</sup> Anniversary of Roe v.
Wade, the legalization of abortion in the United States. If you’re reading this
blog, you shouldn't be surprised to find out I’m a social conservative. Hello,
I’m Catholic. If you’re up for it, give me ten minutes. I’m not one to get in
screaming fits or start throwing bibles, but I’m sure not one to stay silent,
either.</div>
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Of those 40 years, I’ve participated in the Nation’s March
for Life for the past 9. It’s the least I can do, for the other third of my
generation that didn’t make it out of the womb; and it’s an honor as an
American, to embrace the rights of the first amendment, hard earned and
protected with worthy deaths. Each year I march I’m blown away by people’s
determination. It’s not a piece of cake.
The day is truly a pilgrimage. People don’t travel twenty hours or more
on buses to march for nothing; we don’t wake up at 4 am to stay up 24 hours, or
march in 18 degree snow and ice for nothing; and we certainly don’t march for
media coverage. HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS of people show up every year- and it’s
barely covered on the news. This year was 500,000 plus.</div>
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So why do we march? Better yet, why are we pro-life at all? Being
Pro-Life is often likened to being racist or sexist- it’s judgmental, some people
think. Being openly pro-life has earned me many labels over the years: prude, holy roller, religious freak, oppressed zombie, crazy b****, to name a few. I’ll
admit it- the constant belittlement makes the counter arguments sound tempting. </div>
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It’s easier to mind our own business; women’s bodies shouldn't be on political
agendas<i>. “I don’t agree with abortion,
but I wouldn't tell a woman she couldn't get one”… “Women should have the right
to choose.”</i> Fear invites us to believe it’s not our place to speak, that
each person does have a “right to choose”. Well, I’m all about supporting choices-
but why is choosing to believe life begins at conception the only choice allowed
to be discounted?</div>
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Sometimes the truth is not easy to believe. But after years
of skepticism, serious questioning and deliberation, I have found the Catholic
Church’s teachings on sex, contraception and abortion to be true. I would still
believe them even if I did not believe in God at all. They’re not popular; they’re
not easy to live out; but they are <b>logical</b>,
and most importantly, they demand the truest form of love, which is sacrifice.</div>
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<b>We Are Not Pro-Life
if We’re Not First Pro-Love<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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“We are the Pro-Life Generation.” I’ve heard that a lot
lately. It’s beautiful- and I try to live up to that standard in my own life-
but this year, particularly, I’ve been asking myself what that means exactly. I
am a dedicated member of the Pro-Life movement- yet, as a young woman in the
modern world, I recognize some misdirection the movement continues to make. In
frank terms, I understand why some people hate us. I’ve been thinking lately about how much it’s necessary
to first be pro-love before we can be authentically pro-life. </div>
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“Keep your rosaries off my ovaries,” is a phrase I’ve never
forgotten from a few pro-choice protests I’ve witnessed. Pretty sacrilegious,
maybe hurtful to some, but you have to admit it’s a rather clever pun. The
first young woman I remember holding that sign was a classmate of mine in
college; she had worn a pin all week that said, “I stand with Planned
Parenthood.” She was bright, kind, eager to help women. I wondered what she
would do if I wore a pin that said, “I stand with the American Catholic Church.
Keep your birth control off the Constitution.” I didn’t want to start a fist
fight in the middle of Shakespeare, however poetic.</div>
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That girl was just like me. Friendly, ambitious, a little
sassy- and I bet she really believed she was helping women. It killed me there
was such a disconnect. How could we be so similar and believe such
fundamentally different things? She believed abortion on demand, free
contraception, and discrediting the religious liberty of a nation was the definition
of freedom for modern women. I ached for a solution- a way to reach people like
her- convinced that religious fanatics or enslaved patriarchal masses are somehow
threatening her way of life; when all we’re trying to do is stand up for love.
A love that, in fact, has her personal best interests in mind. </div>
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I do know how we DON’T reach them: by failing to love. And
we fail to love each time we don’t consider the situation holistically. I get
it. You’re pissed- the massive, unbearable loss weighs on my heart every
day. It’s mind numbing to live in a
society where the value of life is measured with usefulness. How far will the
line get pushed? Only children who are wanted are born. We have lawmakers pushing third trimester
abortions. What’s next? Will we execute the elderly when they cease to
function? The disabled and handicapped, too? And us? Our generation where so
many don't have jobs? There would be more room without us, too.</div>
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You should be infuriated. Every day I feel insane when what
is crystal clear to me is denied by so many. But we can’t let these rants
control our actions. Our religious liberty, the very nature of our humanity is
under attack, yes, but we are kind people. We are people of patience, logic,
and generous love. Manipulation, ignorance, shaming others? There is no place
for these things among us. There is no time to lose hearts with negligence. </div>
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We must remember what it means to be pro-life. That each
abortion begins with a woman- and man- neglected real love. It is easy to
condemn her; to call her a murderer, a sinner. Judgment only passes along fear
and hatred- obviously- turning the rosary into a weapon, a threat. Love smiles
at those women, and says, “I can help you,” without question. The wrath of God is real
indeed, but so is His mercy. Read a newspaper- our feeble mirrors of His wrath are not working.<b> </b>Why don’t we try mirrors of compassion
instead?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Love thinks before it speaks. “We love babies, yes we do, we
love babies, how ‘bout you?” is often chanted at the march. I hate this. It’s
utterly disrespectful. Do you think those women backed into the corner of
abortion hate children? They’re human beings, like you and me. Do not rob them
of their maternal love in their darkness; it will push them farther from the
light.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Love respects the dead. Those graphic pictures with the
gruesome reality of abortion have their place. In medical books, in court
cases, in discretion. The remnants of the dead do not belong on billboards.
Murder photographs are not put into slideshows. It is counter-productive to our
cause.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Love, above all is sacrifice. To be pro-life is to embrace a
lifestyle of sacrifice, in all things. We
sacrifice our pride, our talents, even our own bodies, because we recognize the
very sanctity of life, as we are made in the image of God. This starts with valuing
our own lives and that reverence ripples out like waves in a pond. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sacrifice waste and carelessness. Trade in the world found
in pop songs where young people think themselves invincible. We are not.
Instead, invest in your health, your mind, your future. Don’t text and drive or
speed- that crap kills people. Friends make friends wear seatbelts; you’re
laughing now, until your friends are dead. Don’t kill your livers; don’t ruin your lungs
with smoke; in fact, avoid all addictions except the high of gratitude. Break
cycles of violence and abuse by sacrificing your pride. Life is far too short.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sacrifice your time and energy. Call your grandparents and care
for the elderly. Treat the poor, homeless, disabled and different like human
beings. Be proud of young women or
couples that choose life, no matter their circumstance; be ready to console the
ones who don’t. They don’t need forgiveness from you- only themselves and from
God. Help them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The greatest and most effective sacrifice is that of our own
desires. It seems impossible to save sex for marriage. My friends, it’s
difficult, but not impossible. I dare you to completely sell out for love. A
love so strong, it can’t be bound with any limits. It needs no contraception,
no abortion. A love that has no mistakes, because it’s total self gift. Give
your lives to God and He will show you how inconsequential sex is without love;
how incomplete love is without sacrifice; and how that’s only found in the cross.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So to my fellow Pro-Life generation, I beg you. Stand up for
love while we stand up for life. Those who stand against us were once in the
womb, too. Give them no reason to discredit us. Educate yourselves. Research what you believe
in. Only then can we patiently and firmly sacrifice our lives to show them
love. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Amanda Hamilton http://www.blogger.com/profile/02146501142963323123noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123354514830823908.post-74554861177983943022013-01-23T22:43:00.000-08:002013-01-23T22:43:45.788-08:00My Frozen Stubborn Senses<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<i>I had become a great
enigma to myself and asked my soul why it was so sad and why it caused me so
much distress. And my soul did not know what to answer. If I said, “Trust in
God,” my soul very rightly did not obey me, because the dearest friend whom it
had lost was more real and better than the fantastic god in whom it was told to
trust. Only tears were my consolation, and tears had taken the place of my friend
in my heart’s love.”</i> -St. Augustine, The Confessions</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This passage has been very useful to me over the years. The sentiment comforts me; there’s something
about knowing “a holy dead guy” shares similar feelings to us all that just
allows me to breathe easier (thank you, Ellen). I love this passage mostly
because its transparency is overwhelming. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“…<i>because the dearest
friend whom it had lost was more real and better than the fantastic god in whom
it was told to trust”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I may have wept when I first stumbled upon this gem. It felt
like a weight lifted off my shoulders. There, someone said it. I could admit
it: it’s a very difficult thing to trust God, especially when you’re mad at
Him. I too have lost loved ones and had
to confront reality straight on. My greatest
struggles perhaps all originate with this problem: the complicated relationship
between the reality of our material, physical world and an unseen, all powerful
God. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I feel like I’m very aware and influenced by sensory things.
Smells, sounds, sights, tastes, touches. We all are. The mistake is to believe they’re the only
things that are real; a mistake that’s very hard to overcome. It’s a mistake that leads to despair- for when
things are lost, it seems eternal. If nothing else but what I can see, feel or
touch is real… then surely my sorrow is eternal. Faces lost are lost forever. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s where trust comes in. It’s so much easier to trust in
sensory things. The safety of a locked door. The satisfaction of a good meal.
The comfort of a man’s arms. All good
things- and yet, they are still not eternal. It took me a while to figure out I
could not trust someone I didn’t know. Thus
began both the simplest and most complex journey any person can travel- asking
God who He is. Asking Him who I am; why
I should bother caring what He thinks; and what the heck I’m supposed to be
doing on this earth. And like any loving parent, He lets me ask the same
questions over and over; even days when He knows I’m not listening to the
answers.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lately, the bitter cold has been flooding my sensory
universe. Seasonal depression is real, folks. Stock up on hot cocoa and
blankets. Pictures of the beach all over your room may or may not be helpful.
Maryland is my home, but most know I’m a Florida girl at heart. My emotions being
tied so closely with my senses has proved for a tough first winter back at
home. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My blood has thinned. I ache for the sun; my bones cry out
for the warm gentle breezes. I miss how the moonlight falls on palm trees. I miss the sand in my toes and seeing endless
green. I miss the comfort of being swallowed
up whole in the gigantic ocean. Here, the trees are bare and cold. The duck pond across the street is lovely,
but a bit small. I’m trying to be calm and react like a rational human being,
but I’m not doing the best job.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The other night, as I left my brother and sister-in-law’s
house, it had snowed. It was freezing cold with biting wind. I screamed and
complained as I scraped the half inch of ice off my car. I cursed the wind and
ice; shouting profanities about how I didn’t belong in cold weather, about how
much <i>I hate dealing with it at all.</i>
It was a scene of shameless brattiness. It was a dusting; I am better than
that. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I drove home and my fingers re-gained feeling, defrost warming
my car, my mind slipped away from itself and back to the cold. But this time, I
thought of all the homeless people who must be outside freezing. The children
whose coats are too thin; the little fingers that have no gloves, when I have
many to choose from at home. I was suddenly ashamed of myself. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Do they trust God?” I asked myself. I have everything, and
still I doubt Him. My sensory world
lacks nothing: warm car, good music, pleasant scenery. At home I’ll be greeted
with a home cooked meal, comfy bed, a closet full of clothes. My parents will
hug and kiss me, they’ll love me. My regular Monday night is more privileged than
some other human being’s whole lives. Still, I have the audacity to complain
and lack satisfaction. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sadly, my reaction to the cold is so often similar to my
response to God. <i>I don’t like dealing
with it at all.</i> <i>I don’t like being
powerless. I don’t like being out of my comfort zone. </i> All these things can be said about our sensory
climate and our relationships with the big guy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The solution to both problems is simple. So simple it seems
impossible and funny at the same time. It’s always to let go. Put on some
gloves, stop screaming about how cold you are, reconcile with the fact you’re
not literally going to freeze- and be a grown up who’s capable of scraping the
ice off her windshield. When I stop fighting the cold- I realize how much I can
take it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I stop fighting God, I’m humbled by how much He gives
me. I hold onto things so tightly- always having a backup plan in case He doesn’t
come through- and only when I let go can He actually get things done. Luckily, as Catholics, our sacramental faith
gives us plenty of sensory truths. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In a way that fills all my senses God is real. I see His
love and mercy in others. I hear His power when the wind blows, when the waves
crash, when my loved ones speak. I smell His gifts in every cup of coffee,
every stroll around the lake. I taste Him in bread and wine. I feel Him with
every breath, each moment I’m alive. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To trust Him is to believe in something bigger than
ourselves, than our senses. He’s so generous to come to us even there, in our
humanity which He created and shared.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p><i> </i></div>
Amanda Hamilton http://www.blogger.com/profile/02146501142963323123noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123354514830823908.post-14023986829725000912013-01-17T19:41:00.000-08:002013-01-17T19:41:29.089-08:005 Exercise Tips for Aging Young Adults<b style="text-indent: -0.25in;">1. We NEED to Stretch Now</b><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Y’all, we’re not 16 anymore. I know- two-a-day’s at
football, soccer, or field hockey practice don’t seem like that long ago. But they
were. We’re now twenty-something’s. Our muscles are literally twenty years old.
Like the chipped wood paneling in the bathroom. Like…wait. Most things don’t
live or last that long. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We need to stretch. Running a block= stretching for at
least 10 minutes. Don’t let your pride trick you! Not stretching will make it
hard to walk. You will be embarrassed as your father springs up the stairs and
you’re still at the bottom. You will hurt sitting down, anywhere. Then you will
be too sore to exercise the next day. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Use stretching as your “you” time. Be happy you just
exercised; be happy you’re done. The only way to touch our toes in ten years is
touching them every day until then. Or say you’re jogging, shamelessly out of
breath, and kids on bikes are approaching. Inevitably…they will pass you. They
will hear your wheezing. But wait! There’s a tree to save you. You pause, stretching
your calves on the friendly bark. Your breathing slows. They pass, smiling and
wave. “She’s so cool,” they’re thinking. “I want to jog like her when I
graduate middle school.” Stretching just saved you. Become best friends with
stretching.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<b style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">2. </span><span style="font-size: 7pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></b><b style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Get “Couch
to 5K” Immediately</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<b style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You think running is only for super athletic people. Jumping gazelles
who have never counted calories in their lives. It’s not true. Your ankles are
just as good, your calves just as ready to be formed. A few months ago, I could
barely jog a mile. I admit it. In college, we barely sleep; we only have time
for fast food; our livers are under attack. I simply had no time to <i>learn to run.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t endorse many things- but Couch to 5K- an app on my
iPhone- turned me into a jogger. I had been trying for years. It just never
worked. I would give up, discouraged
because it always seemed too hard. Even in high school- I played defense on the
Field Hockey team because I was a slow runner. It didn’t matter then- my hip
checks and not fearing bruises/ broken bones were enough to get the job done. Swim
team? Pshh, we don’t run. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But with C25K- I can jog for miles. I am slow, yes, but who
cares? My jeans from high school are fitting. I could now effectively run away
from a bad guy, God forbid. Now I can jog
for the rest of my life. It’s the best exercise because you can do it anywhere.
Marathons are still far away- but healthy is happy. Toning exercises and gyms are great-but jogging works miracles.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Get shoes that fit, follow the program! It seems silly at first-
walk, walk, walk- jog for five seconds- but pace yourself! It’s only 3 days a
week, don’t skip ahead! Soon, you will see you can jog longer without feeling
like death. Take notice of your breathing. I breathe in for 3 seconds, out for
4, which is harder than it seems. Go download it now. Totally free.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you don’t have an iPhone- Google interval running apps.
You should be able to find something.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><b>3. </b></span><b style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Give
Biking a Try</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<b style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I moved home, I invested in a nice, durable adult bike.
Not that I don’t love my purple princess bike- but my legs are a bit longer,
now. My parents and I discovered this beautiful bike trail, not far from our
house. Soon we were out there almost every other day. Beginning bikers, don’t
be discouraged! The local bike shops may seem snobby, if you’re not sure which
bike you want or how to take it apart and put it back together, but ignore it.
You don’t need the fancy bike clothes or aspirations to be in the Tour de
France. Take it a day at a time; don’t get hit by a car.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Get to know your bike. Make sure the back break is not
permanently on- making the first few weeks really difficult to ride. Your legs
will be like steel- but you might cry a few times, as your parents fly past you
on their beach cruisers, while you’re sweating on the bike you spent a paycheck
on. Thank you, bike friend, for taking the invisible break off.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do not wear baggy clothes, they might catch on the pedals
and you will wreck; don’t try doing 12 miles immediately, you’ll have a hard
time walking back to the car; when your seat is too high, stopping abruptly may
cause you to fly forward onto the bar…and ladies, this still hurts.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Biking is great because it’s less impact on your joints. Since
you’re jogging 3 times a week, give them a rest. Biking gets you outside to watch the seasons
change. There’s a feeling of success covering so much ground in a short period
of time. There’s a feeling of such freedom.
Let the wind carry you away from all your problems. Take deep breaths;
share the ride with friends and family. When you’re ready- move up to biking mountain
trails. When you’re crazy, try riding with no hands. I will never be able to do
this, but I’ve seen it done.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><b>4. </b></span><b style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Don’t
Underestimate Proper Clothes</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<b style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s genius trying to exercise in the winter in a tank top.
Wrong! It’s cold now. Maryland is not Florida. My jogging experience was 100%
better with some ear warmers, running gloves, and $9 long pants from Wal-Mart.
You may need a long sleeve shirt and jacket. You may need spandex or long johns.
It might be 35 degrees. Don’t be a baby. You’ve got this. (I mean don’t go
outside if it’s raining or snowing, I don’t suggest sickness…but yeah, suck it
up.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Your nose and cheeks will be rosier, but hey, your efforts
are just more obvious. So my Florida people, don’t give me that crap. Boo hoo,
it’s 55 degrees. Go outside.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes I would dread working out because I didn’t have
the right clothes. Jogging was annoying because my pants would be falling down.
Kickboxing was awkward jumping around in
shorts. My shoes were too big; my sports bras were old or too small. Invest in
yourself. If that means dropping a few bucks on the right clothes- believe me,
it’s worth it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<b style="text-indent: -0.25in;">5.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span></b><b style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Make
it a Priority Sooner than Later</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;">
<b style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My young friends, we’re only getting older. Right now is the
time to ensure our healthy futures. I don’t know about you guys- and I’m sure
all real adults reading this are mad at me- but I’m getting grey hair. My back
cracks getting up every morning. It takes me longer to jump up off the floor. I
can no longer treat my skin like crap without it showing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Only you can decide if you want to be healthy. Our family
members are getting older, we’re starting new chapters in our lives…and our
bodies are aging with our minds. I know exercising can be annoying. We get
busy, we get tired. We want food, we want to lounge on the couch. We have time to check facebook and twitter
but not 20 minutes to walk a mile? We want Jimmy John’s 5 times a week and 3
cups of coffee every day, but we don’t care it’s raising our blood pressure? Those
are things our parents worry about. Not anymore. We’re twenty something. It
will catch up to us soon.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I encourage you to make time for yourself. It’s often the
biggest obstacle to overcome. We make time for everything else- school, work,
family, friends, prayer- but all that is hurt when our bodies start failing. Do your future self a favor and make exercise a priority. We
have things to do- so make sure you’re up and running to get them done.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
Amanda Hamilton http://www.blogger.com/profile/02146501142963323123noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123354514830823908.post-70406348005541705472013-01-09T19:11:00.000-08:002013-01-14T14:26:53.895-08:00"Just Say Yes"I didn't think I would write any posts about music since it
is often different things to different people. Some people prefer the melody,
the musical talent; others ache for the words, taking comfort in their sentiment.
Some music is for dancing or for nights
spent around a smoky fire with a drink. Some music is made to stir your soul. A good
song can make the world seem brand new. Music
seems endless.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So you see, the list is simply too long. Writing about music
is like writing about the ocean. Where
could I even begin? Here you discover one of my faults- my absolute annoyance
with things that cannot be grasped wholly.
Music, the ocean…the love of God.
And yet, the things that make me feel the smallest, the most insignificant,
are always my favorite things. They are the only places I find rest.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I first wanted to post about this particular song, my
initial thought was, “That’s dumb. No one will get it.” Or even, “No one will treasure this song the
way you do.” For me, attachments to songs or experiences with certain songs can
be deeply personal. We all have them: the song that plays randomly on the radio
that just sends silent tears down your face; the song that awakens memories so
deep you forgot you kept them; the song that brings a certain face to mind, a
certain time. Often, only you can really
understand the complexity of what a song means to you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I need not capture the vastness of the ocean to understand its
beauty; that can be seen in a single wave, a tiny shell. I certainly can’t wrap
my head around the love of God. Each day reveals a new way He has no
conditions. I could only ever share moments, precious and almost unspeakable,
of how He lets me see it sometimes. Just because I can’t describe its entirety
doesn’t make the pieces any less real. So I write this post with that peace…that
even if I can’t get my whole point across to everyone… this piece of music is
important to me. And if you’re reading this, I must be, in some way, important
to you. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Just Say Yes,” by Snow Patrol, will forever be tied to
memories of this time in my life. I can’t stop listening to this song. I’m sure
friends who have seen me lately will laugh. I’ve annoyed them enough, playing
it over and over, saying, “Guys have you heard this song? Shhh, listen to the
words! Listen!” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yet more than wishing whoever I marry sings this song to me as
he proposes (which is half way a joke), this song really touches me for a few
reasons. Do yourself a favor. Get past
the techno background, close your eyes and let this song take you. Don’t even
watch the video. Just soak it in, and
then come back to me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vW1hv37imjw">Click here for "Just Say Yes"</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I just listened again and I’m probably still crying for the hundredth
time over this song. I agree, it’s not the best song ever. It sure isn’t Les Miserables level or worthy
of in-depth analysis. But right now… the words, “Just Say Yes,” mean more to me
than most other words.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have a general proclivity to be a negative person. Probably
because my personality hinges on practicality and we live in a strange world. I like to think of myself as a worst-case
scenario optimist. That being said, I think this song completely rips my heart
out because it reminds me of all the things I respond to negatively.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No” is a pretty useful word. It lasted through high school
and college. No, I don’t want to try those drugs, thank you. No, I don’t want
two pieces of cheesecake…I mean, I do….but no. No, I’m not going to take part
in something I disagree with. It should
be the only word that friends or significant others need for your point to be
heard.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I say no to a lot of things. Sometimes out of prudence, sometimes
out of selfishness, and sometimes out of fear. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“Just say yes. Just say there’s nothing holding
you back.”</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gosh. It hurts. It kills me. The things that hold me back.
There are too many to list.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yet, even more dangerous than saying no, are the times I
simply fail to say yes. I <i>want</i> to say
yes. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Yes, God you are
enough. Yes, I believe I am good. Yes, I believe I am beautiful and loved. Yes,
I will give up my life to serve you. Yes, I will try every day to love like
you. Yes, I am thankful for my life. Yes, I have joy.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
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Instead, sometimes my days look more like this:</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>God, where the heck
are you? I wonder if I’ll always be so
bad. Things will be better when I lose those last 20 lbs, get a tan and my hair
grows back out. I can’t decide if I want to serve you or give up this crap and
make a lot of money. Most people annoy the hell out of me, but I’ll be nice
because that’s objectively right and I don’t want other people to think I’m mean. My closet is full but I want new clothes.
Sometimes, I wish He hadn’t made us at all because I don’t see the point.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There’s a pretty stark difference there. Realistically I’m somewhere
in the middle of those two extremes. But right now, at a time when my life is
full of uncertainty, it’s the scariest thing to say yes. Commitment is scary;
giving up control is scary; believing in something bigger than ourselves is
scary. Self gift without reserve,
without expectation- it’s the point of our lives and the one thing I’m most
afraid of.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let me end on the clear note that this song, though perfect,
is not about any person for me. I’ve had the privilege of loving great men,
that’s for sure. But bigger than that, and completely outside of myself, this
song encourages me to say yes to God. Yes to communion. Yes to love. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s an invitation to trust. Sometimes people say, “don’t
ask why,” regarding suffering in our lives, big and small, but I think that’s crap.
Ask Him why every day; just be prepared that the answer is always the same, and
sometimes that knowledge will lead you down paths you don’t really <i>want</i> to travel, but won’t be able to
resist. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“It’s so simple and
you know it is. You’re the only way to me, the path is clear. This was all I
wanted, all I want.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
Amanda Hamilton http://www.blogger.com/profile/02146501142963323123noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123354514830823908.post-24214938539983014322012-12-13T17:50:00.000-08:002012-12-13T17:51:31.268-08:00An Ode to All the Corners of My HeartThere is this thing inside my chest that daily gives me grief<br />
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Whether clothed in fire or ice, it’s never a relief</div>
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Some wonder if it’s even there, I am so cold at times</div>
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But few have known its passions, and fewer still its rhymes</div>
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<br /></div>
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Today as I was walking, its beating stopped me short</div>
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As if to ask a question, or mumble a retort</div>
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“Do you even see me?” my heart then asked my mind</div>
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“Because from how you’re acting, I’m sure that you’ve gone blind”</div>
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<br />
My mind dared not to answer, lest the blood stop in my veins</div>
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And stopped to simply listen and for once let go the reins<br />
“I have some things to tell you,” said the voice inside my heart</div>
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“Don’t be frightened or uneasy, just be open for a start”</div>
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<br /></div>
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“I’m not the
weaker side of you, we’re equal don’t you see?</div>
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You always
try to drown me out, you never let me be</div>
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Who told you
that I’m useless? Or one sided? Never right?</div>
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When you
know it’s me you come to when you can’t sleep every night”</div>
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<br /></div>
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“I wish that
you would look at me, give me the time of day</div>
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I’m not as
simple as you think, in any single way</div>
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I’m made of
many corners, many twists and many turns</div>
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It is I who
breaks and stands, who weathers and who burns”</div>
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<br /></div>
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“I love that
you’re so prudent, so careful and so wise</div>
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But isn’t
all this safety sometimes fear in good disguise?</div>
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Not
everything is logical, not everything is clean</div>
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My dear, you
have no faith at all if everything is seen”</div>
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<br /></div>
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“I chose
this moment wisely as you walked and watched the clouds</div>
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It was my
one and only chance, while nothing else was loud</div>
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Except the
beating of your heart, you felt it deep inside</div>
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You stopped
to watch the setting sun, you held your breath and cried”</div>
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<br /></div>
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“You asked
yourself how it could be, that you should be alive</div>
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When others
far more generous, more loving, and more kind</div>
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No longer
walk the paths you walk, no longer breathe the air</div>
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Another
thing you can’t explain, the one thing you can’t bear”</div>
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<br /></div>
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“You worry
you’re not doing good, you wonder if He’s there</div>
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But mind,
you’ll never process all the things that just aren’t fair</div>
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I am the balance
to your doubt, the place where you can bend</div>
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For I am how
He speaks to you, to comfort and to mend”</div>
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<br /></div>
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“You think
so much is folly, that it’s wrong to look inside</div>
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But I have
all the truth on all the secrets that you hide</div>
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Each memory
is bathed in gold, each pair of eyes a gem</div>
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It doesn’t
take a thing from you to stop and look at them”</div>
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<br /></div>
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“I beg you
now to give me say, don’t silence me once more</div>
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Ignore me,
fine, but only if it’s after, not before</div>
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Before I
have the chance to feel, to try to understand</div>
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To whisper
of the things you love though they may be unplanned”</div>
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<br /></div>
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“I am to be
your partner through life’s unyielding plot</div>
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Though we
both know a compromise isn’t what you sought</div>
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Reason this
and reason that, I hope you always do</div>
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But promise
me, for our girl’s sake, you listen to me, too”</div>
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<br /></div>
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And as I
stood there trembling, feeling every pulse of blood</div>
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My heart’s
voice gently faded, like the calm after a flood</div>
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I breathed
again so swiftly, like I’d not in twenty years</div>
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The sun it
set and took the light along with many fears</div>
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<br /></div>
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The corner
that I walked today was strong and loud as thunder</div>
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It wouldn’t
let me waste another sunset heart asunder</div>
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So here’s to
all the many corners waiting for their chance</div>
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Be sure to
scream or make me cry, or you’ll miss a second glance</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
Amanda Hamilton http://www.blogger.com/profile/02146501142963323123noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123354514830823908.post-85029618259718985832012-11-28T14:11:00.000-08:002013-01-10T13:25:57.441-08:00“I love you and I’m sorry we’re going to die.”“I love you and I’m sorry we’re going to die.” My favorite creative writing professor at
Florida State once told my class that every short story, when you read it
carefully, says this message over and over again. I can’t remember where he got it- a book, a
friend, his head- only that at first it made me sad. The class had mixed feelings. We asked what
he meant but he would never say more; only that it’s true and we must figure it
out ourselves. No way, I thought, that’s ridiculous and morbid. My short
stories will be about love, about life and friendship. Death will never touch them. I was still angry then.<br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sorry if you tuned in for something funny today- I had every
intention of compiling a list of all the simple joys in life that I cherish. They’re definitely funny. But as I wrote, it
seemed like the second act of a play. How could I explain the things that bring
me joy without the bigger picture? Like the joy of the first flower bud opening
after a long, cold winter; like seeing a dear friend’s face just before you’ve lost
the details of every freckle and color in your memory. I think you may better understand my greatest
joys with a glimpse of my greatest sorrow. Essentially, the truth in that tiny
message: “I love you and I’m sorry we’re going to die.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But now that simple phrase doesn’t seem so scary. I wonder if it means something like this…that
any story- any good story anyway- without knowledge of its end, cannot really
begin. To acknowledge this life is only
a journey with an end…there is a weight there, some credibility. As if the
writer tips his hat to death, pulls up his boots and carries on. The sorrow is only for things that pass away,
namely, our time here.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Or another
interpretation: are there really any two things on this earth worth saying more?
“I love you” certainly speaks for itself.
“I’m sorry we’re going to die”- this is the hang up. Sort of makes you
uneasy. We don’t like thinking about
death. The being sorry part is
interesting, too. It certainly could
have been, “I love you and one day we will die,” or, “I love you and I hope we
never die,” or even, “I love you and I accept that everyone dies.” Honestly, it used to make me feel guilty. I
thought we should not be sorry to die if we really believe our purpose is to
return to God. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That may be true. I’m
not sure. I hope I’m happy to go home, when the time comes. Half the time I’m yelling at God for making
us stay on this crazy planet without Him for one second. To feel Him for even a
moment, to know Him and want Him, and then feel torn from Him? Death, in this
case, would only be joy. The fulfillment of our deepest purpose. I get that. But if we didn’t mourn losing our
lives on earth at all…what would be the point?
Is not saying, “I’m sorry we’re going to die” equal to saying, “I’m so
happy we’re alive?” Does it not carry in its very meaning a respect for life
and its beauty that perhaps only the light of death can reveal?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Regardless, this
phrase came to me at a time I needed it most.
Sophomore in college, thinking I had it all figured out as I slowly
slipped, refusing to confront myself. I
will never forget it. It helped me shed
my despair instead for gratitude. Life
no longer a ticking clock; death no longer a bomb waiting to explode at any
minute. It reminded me it’s simply our
final destination- and if we’re not enjoying the ride enough to be sorry when
it’s over- we must not be paying attention.
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think He works with all of us much more gently than we
work with ourselves. Like in simple
phrases that can change our whole perspective when we only stop to listen. Whenever I’m in a slump, He sends me what I
need. Recently I attended a memorial mass for a friend I lost five years ago,
today, actually. I’m sure that’s the reason my joys slipped slowly from my
fingers onto the page. This time of year
is always hard for many people. But the priest’s homily convicted me the same
way this little phrase did back in school. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He reflected on the experiences of those who have met death.
Others can only describe the marked difference in them as depression. Perhaps,
sometimes it is. I remember feeling as
if I’d aged a thousand years in a moment. But often, he said, death simply changes
a person’s entire framework and for them the whole world is changed. They now hold the weight of reality in its
fragility and mortality. They realize the truth that this world is
transitory. The only difference for
people of faith is that we have hope. Hope that God made us because He loves us
and one day we’ll make it back to Him; hope that those we’ve lost have simply
gone before; hope that we can really enjoy this life. He challenged everyone to make our lives
count, to get up every day because it glorifies our lost loved ones’ lives and
God. It’s a responsibility really, once
you’ve seen the truth, to choose to live so fully that you will in fact, be sad
to go, and others will mourn your passing. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The same day a friend sent me an article that touched me
from the New York Times. It’s called, “On Being Not Dead,” by Bill Hayes. Check it out, if you have time. It’s so nice to read your own feelings in
someone else’s words. It’s like making a
new friend with endless affirmations that you’re not, in fact, insane. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/11/22/opinion/on-being-not-dead.html?_r=0">"On Being Not Dead"</a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So here’s to beauty of our short, meaningful lives. I do
love you. I’m sorry we’re going to die,
so I pray for the strength and wisdom to recognize every joy, large and small.</div>
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<br /></div>
Amanda Hamilton http://www.blogger.com/profile/02146501142963323123noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123354514830823908.post-39393123607858462292012-11-15T13:21:00.002-08:002013-01-10T13:34:40.518-08:00Rookie RunnerWhen I moved home to Maryland this fall and resolved to kick
weight watchers in the face once and for all, I decided my parents and I were going
to become “active people.” You know what I mean, people who say things like: <i>Oh, I wake up at 6am to run 10 miles every morning</i>…or…<i>Can’t go out tonight, I have to wake up
early for a triathlon</i>…or my favorite…<i>Man,
I really need new running shoes, I’ve really worn mine out.</i><br />
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<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gosh, what a dilemma. My running shoes look brand new if you’d
like to borrow mine. I listen to these
people with equal feelings of admiration and flat out envy. While they’re on mile 5 each morning, I’m
throwing my alarm clock across the room. The only thing that can drag me out of bed is
coffee or food. We’ll be more like…afternoon
active people.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This determined desire to have more active lives stems from
a few reasons. One, healthy body= better
chances for a healthy mind, and Lord knows I could use some help with that.
Two, since I broke up with sugar and carbs to count points and it’s WORKING,
exercise is the best thing. Hello skinny
jeans. <br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But let’s be real- the third reason may be what’s really
pushing me. Active people are just. SO. COOL.
And now that I’m an adult, and my
metabolism has basically leveled out with all the effortlessly athletic tiny people
from my past – let me tell you- it is healing to get out there and have fun.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For every time I wasn’t picked for the dodge ball team
because I was slow…boom! I’m 5’9” and I
can outrun you now. For every team party
we weren’t invited to because we weren’t in the junior Olympics…HA! Now I can
bike miles and miles and I’m not even tired. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And the best part is…we like it. My parents are right out
there with me- cold weather and all- biking and walking it up. My super cool Dad even got our new bike rack
on sale. What’s. Up. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If I could, I’d personally thank WW, whoever invented the
Couch to 5K app, Drake, Daft Punk and Big Time Rush (judge away), and every
person who ever had a 13.1 sticker on their car that made me want to be like
them. It really is a whole new world. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Don’t be fooled- I’m still a rookie- overestimating my
running capabilities and limping home.
Today I was chased by a dog, and only noticed it was on a chain after I
had tripped on the sidewalk. I also
suggest NOT wearing spandex pants unless your tush needs affirmation from
random men. Rookie mistake.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So for all my people out there- the slow runners, the chubby
kids, those of us used to getting participant ribbons- there is hope on the other
side. Get some good shoes. Some good
music. Double up on sports bras and just go outside. I prefer jogging and biking because I love
the scenery and you can run away from people you’d rather not speak to. Also kickboxing- but that’s a whole separate
blog. Kicking the crap out of something
just makes everything so clear. And if
you want to lose weight- I obviously love WW- but today I’m tired and if I
write about it I may crack and eat a pizza. Another time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s getting late- go work out! The snobby awesome active
people are.</div>
Amanda Hamilton http://www.blogger.com/profile/02146501142963323123noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6123354514830823908.post-64373999453820228782012-11-14T15:09:00.003-08:002016-08-29T20:40:50.475-07:00Welcome to Planet AmandaWelcome to Planet Amanda.
Yes, I know Earth is technically “revolving” around the sun, but I like
the word spin much better, for any science people who automatically thought me
an idiot. You may be right, but that’s
for another day. Thank you, truly, for clicking on this page. Seems silly to have a blog if I’m the only
one reading it.<br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Quick bio for those who don’t know me well. I write to you
from cozy Southern Maryland, a town where the metro traffic meets the corn
fields. I’m a practicing Roman Catholic, I'm proud to be American, and I love my family and friends dearly – those three things being my main
reasons for getting out of bed each morning.
I enjoy writing, obviously, reading good books, biking and
kickboxing. I just graduated from
Florida State- go Noles!-and I miss my land with my whole heart, as the south
runs through my veins. But Mary-land is
indeed my home, and resting before my next big adventures has its advantages. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This blog is weeks, months, years overdue perhaps. Simply because I’m still hesitant to jump on
the blog train. The permanency of words
strewn across the vastness of the internet cyberworld may seem commonplace to
some, but for me it is like signing my name in blood. I do not doubt the overwhelming power of
words; I’ll be sure to be particular with mine. I try to only say things I mean with my whole
heart and body- so when I say welcome to my planet, I mean it. If I give you nothing else, it will be my
genuine lens of reality- with all my selfishness, joy, love and sorrow intertwined.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So even with my doubts today I felt compelled; convicted
even, to start sharing some of the words I hold so close. A mixture of events happened simultaneously
which stirred a deep pang to simply <i>do</i>
something. As I sipped my afternoon coffee
I perused Facebook and my email on my beloved iPhone.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two friends had sent me links to Articles/ videos about
Dorothy Day, regarding the Bishops progression with her path to sainthood. If you don’t know about DD- you should. Like St. Teresa of Avila or Edith Stein…let’s
just say she’s my woman. Tough,
brilliant, compassionate, to the point. I respect these women with every ounce of my
being. It’s my life dream to help people
like they did. Go read about Dorothy Day
right now, even if it means you stop reading my blog.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.patheos.com/blogs/deaconsbench/2012/11/st-dorothy-of-new-york/">Dorothy Day Article</a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I tried to control my joy and quit screaming, I saw my
mom emailed me an article from the Catholic Standard called, “U.S. Bishops, Catholic
bloggers discuss how tweets, blogs help evangelize.” Great. Dig
the knife even deeper. Deep down, I know my generation is more than jersey shore and sexting. I know we have the capacity for greatness, if only we could build each other up.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.cathstan.org/main.asp?SectionID=2&SubsectionID=2&ArticleID=5397">Catholic Social Media Article</a><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was a moment of self reflection. I have all these plans…mixed with so much
confusion about the present. I’m 22 years old, fresh out of college. I’m not the
acclaimed novelist my 16 year old self thought I would be. In fact, most of my plans don’t really turn
out as I hoped. And with all my
happiness a grasp away, wrapped up in some dream of the future, I consistently
fail to realize the beauty of today.</div>
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So if Dorothy were here, I bet she’d tell me to get off my butt and do something. You want to be
writer? Then write something. You want
to tell the world that young people like you still love God and will give their
lives for their faith? Then you better start telling them. That bit about building each other up? I think it can start somewhere as small...or as large...as a blog.</div>
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Each day I wake up, amazed that we’re on the Earth, spinning
around the sun. Really. If you think
about it too long, it will start to freak you out. As a child, I used to cry and cry thinking
about the depth of eternity. Now, I just don’t think of it lest I lose all
capability to function, completely lost in my mind dreaming of paradise. In the past, I’ve tried really hard not to-
but I believe we’re on this planet for a reason. I have to believe He didn’t
give us each day for nothing; that we didn’t have to pass through this life
alone. I often wonder why He made us at
all. In fact, I wonder that still. Wars, disease, violence, accidents. Sometimes it seems like such a waste. But as we spin around the Sun, unsure of so
many things, take courage in the fact you are not alone.</div>
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I hope this blog can be a source of comfort, of laughter. A simple reminder of our fragile humanity and
how each day is new. As a rule I try not
to take myself too seriously, so I suggest the same for you. We may have a lot in common, or nothing at
all. But for musings on being human, a
single young woman, encountering post grad quarter life crisis, bleeding incense
because we’re so Catholic, hating/loving weight watchers and my stupid skinny
new life, or for general sarcastic and snide comments…you’re in the right
place. </div>
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Amanda Hamilton http://www.blogger.com/profile/02146501142963323123noreply@blogger.com3