Mish-Mash

The previous post was not my most intellectual.

I'm currently on blogger beta, it is just easier for me to access this blog from my Gmail account, otherwise you'd all be that much more neglected. I don't know if it creates hassles for anyone trying to access my site. The address is the same.

Things are changing. I took a look around my room this morning, looking at the scattered mess of textbooks and wanted to be rid of all that clutter. I see head-scarf wearing women on campus, and start to wonder if I should cover my own head. I don't even need to cover up entirely, maybe just a snood? (Snood is a medieval term, best to use in Google. Calling it a cloth shower cap doesn't do it justice). I know I'm young, and a girl, and therefore society calls us pretty. But, please stop looking at me! This place, called college, perhaps you've heard of it? Men look at women all day long, and I see their eyes. Sometimes they are honorable, other times not. I don't want to be stared at; you know what people ought to stare at? Art!

It's a friday, it's the 13th & I have midterms. You do not get a "normal" post.

Latin Mass? I might actually be able to find one "near" home then.

Am I projecting onto God?

I wonder if I am projecting my own feelings into which order God wants me to join. Why am I still curious about monastic and contemplative orders if I am not to join them? Am I to join them? or not? Why do I find myself wanting more and more silence? wanting less and less people? More and more union with God? With Christ? With Mary and all the Saints? When can I leave this Earth, so I can be with God? If I finish my God-given tasks, fulfill His Will sooner, will I go Home sooner? How can I know His will like that?

Moonbeams

I love the moon. I'm not someone who pulls out thier high-powered telescope to probe the moon's surface, or read up on the history of every single meteor that's buried deep in it's surface. I just like the moon. It glows. It's big and white-gray. God made it. Ergo, I love the moon.

God keeps waking me up all weeklong around 2-4am. Why? Because when I go to bed, the moon is not visible to me, and so I never see it. Rather, if God didn't wake me up at 2-4 am in the morning for the last few nights, I'd never see the moon. God wakes me up at the exact moment the moon is at perfect eye level to where I'm in my bed. I don't have to turn around. I don't have to lift my head. I don't have to shift out of the bedclothes that I've pulled snug around me. It's too perfect to be chance.

I was planning on reading God is Love last night before bed, but I got distracted by the inside fold of the cover. On the outside back of the cover there is this huge color, close-up of Pope Benedict XVI's face and that papal cape he so often wears. I thought that here was a man, along with all the other religious, who loves God just as much as I do, perhaps even moreso than I do at the present time.

James 1: 9-11.

The brother in lowly circumstances should take pride in his high standing,

and the rich one in his lowliness, for he will pas away "like the flower of the field."

For the sun comes up with its scorching heat and dries up the grass, its flower droops, and the beauty of its appeance vanishes. So will the rich person fade away in the midst of his pursuits.

This passage struck me last night, because just a few hours before during dinner with a friend I was worried about what would I do with my material possessions upon entering the convent. This vow of poverty that lingers in the distance sometimes bothers me, because then I figure I shouldn't buy anything now so that I won't have to part with it later. What was the point of buying all those souveniors in Rome this past summer if I can't display them? What is the point of new shoes if I can't use them 'til there's holes in the soles? What on earth am I going to do with all the fabric I bought for future quilts?

Oddly, God wants empty, vain, self-centered me.

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