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Thoughts on prayer.

There is something disconcerting and something else peaceful about being silent in thought and word in front of the Blessed Sacrament.

En route to the church, I think.

I have to spill my guts to Christ, I think.

I think I have to tell him something and wait for his response, or for a blanket of warmth if it’s cold out, or something, or an inexplicable breeze if it’s not (neither has ever happened, it’s just what I think of). That this time, my prayer will be intentional and uninterrupted. No distractions.

And so in the church, I kneel, and I greet Jesus, and then I remember an email or a deadline or my attitude problem. I rein in my thoughts. I greet Jesus again, and focus firmly on the tabernacle first. Then on the giant crucifix above it. Then on how I want to be a better public speaker.

Come on, Arleen.

I greet Jesus. Again.

I want to say words, more words than the ones in my default opener…

Thank you, Lord…

…but I can’t think of any.

Which bothers part of me. The part that thinks I should be able to articulate a reason to be here, that I should gush, or at least communicate for more than a minute before my mind turns to how hungry I am or to whether I should wear my hair curly tomorrow. The part that thinks I have no excuse for this.

The other part of me thinks it’s totally ok. That’s the part that recalls how many times I have been told not to talk as much as I listen. To make what distracts me part of my prayer. That the sacrifice of being there is prayer enough, sometimes.

Again, I greet Jesus.

Sorry for the time(s) I was awake enough to watch four reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond but too tired to pray by the time I turned off the TV. Sorry for the time(s) I put the snooze button before you. For zoning out during the homily. For all my seeking first the other stuff.

I think, then, of all the other stuff.

Then I greet Jesus, again.

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Thoughts on writing a book.

“I’M GOING TO WRITE A BOOK!” 

I was home alone, except for my dog, when I shouted it. A goal — a dream, really — had been handed to me by an editor at Ave Maria Press, the publishing house that reviewed my book proposal and invited me to write the book I pitched.
A miracle. Truly.
I screamed and danced with my dog, who wasn’t as excited as I was, and I called my mom but she didn’t answer, ’cause she was in a meeting.
In the quiet that followed my response to the news, I sat at the kitchen table, suddenly aware of what the news meant:
I have to write a book.

It was joy and fear, probably like becoming a parent, or something. Like, I want this, this commitment I am getting into, but I tremble humbly and am periodically terrified when I consider its magnitude — when I consider that I am being entrusted with this, that I am responsible for something that is going to affect people.
It is so scary. And it is so exciting.
As of Christmas week, the book’s first draft is done. The work, however, isn’t. I am in round one now of revisions, and am to turn a second draft in on Jan. 13. What is important to me now, as I tweak what I have so far and add to it, too, is this:
the right words.
The words readers need to read to get what they need when they read it.
Every day between now and my next deadline, I will be in the book. My hope is that while I am in the book, you will be in prayer. I will start a novena tonight, to St. Francis de Sales — patron saint of journalists and writers — for the right words as I write. If you’ll join me, in prayer generally, or by committing to a novena, I will be eternally grateful.
Other novenas:
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[Guest Post] Abby from Spirit FM: How motherhood taught me to respect all God’s kids.

abbyThis post is one in a series of guest posts to appear Mondays until I finish writing the book. Enjoy!
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The other day I caught myself thinking unkind thoughts about someone. I honestly can’t remember who it was or what I was thinking, but I do remember what made me stop what I was doing: Being a mom.

Several years ago my best friend and I were talking about people we saw at the local Wal-Mart who were less than clean and not using the most polite language. Let me just say, I’m not proud of this conversation, and I don’t have any problem with Wal-Mart. I shop there all the time. Back to the point, we were putting them down and she said, “Well, they’re God’s children, too.”

She’s right.

That comment is so elementary but we sometimes cast off the simple stuff when we become more “spiritually mature.” It has stayed with me for years and has taken on an entirely different meaning now that I’m a mom.

You see, the fastest way for someone to get to my heart is to be nice to my kids. And conversely, the fastest way to my bad side is to be mean to them. I took Liam to the play area at the mall a few months ago and he waved and said hello to another mom. She did a half-smile and kind of rolled her eyes at him. Excuse me? Did you not see, feel and hear the cuteness that was coming at you just then? What’s wrong with you, lady? In a split second, she became my worst enemy.

I am so in love with my kids that whatever is done to them is done to me. When someone is mean to them, I hurt. When someone is kind to them, I feel all warm and fuzzy and want to give that person a big hug.

So if I say something rude about someone, I’m doing to God what the play area mom did to me. Yikes. Not good.

Thankfully, God is way more forgiving and understanding than I am, but that isn’t a green light to speak unkindly to or about one of his kids. I want God to always want to give me a big hug, not be in pain because of my unkind words. Just like me, the way to God’s heart is to be kind to his children. It’s so elementary and so “what it’s all about” all at the same time.

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This post originally appeared on Spirit FM’s Mom Squad blog and was used with permission.

About the blogger: Abby Brundage is the morning show host and promotions director at Spirit FM 90.5, Tampa Bay’s Hit Christian Music! She lives in Seffner, Fla. – a suburb of a suburb of Tampa. It’s a sub-suburb! She has been married to her husband Josh since 2008 and they have two adorable sons. Click here to read her Spirit FM Mom Squad blog.

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[Guest Post] Leah Darrow: The evolution of distorted beauty.


This post is written by Leah Darrow, known in part for her appearances on cycle three of America’s Next Top Model.

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“I just knew when I saw her nose, it was going to look right on my face,” Blaier said. “She has this beautiful…I call it a bunny hill…a very feminine tip at the end and that’s what I wanted.”

The above quote is from a woman who underwent rhinoplasty to have a nose like Kate Middleton[1]. When did someone else’s nose, waist, chest, you-name-it look better than your own? Beauty has dis-evolved to a Cosmo-grade/celebrity-look-a-like/surgically reconstructed standard of beauty. This info-graph demonstrates just how prevalent plastic surgeries are in the USA[2].

Through subtle or more drastic ways to change our natural look[3], we have bought into the lie of distorted beauty. These statistics are astounding but with the current obsession with perfection, they shouldn’t come as a surprise. We ironically value the impossibility of perfection and expect it of our imperfect selves.

Why is our natural beauty in question?

What’s so wrong with laugh lines or our stomachs being softer after a miracle grew inside? Yes, there will be wrinkles, grey hair, and softer middle sections – and there are parts of us that are naturally imperfect (why is this a shock to us?).

When did we become a woman of parts? Are we not (whole people) with intrinsic value, dignity, and beauty?

When I notice my imperfections, I think about the teenager who will die in a car crash who will never see crow’s feet, the young wife who never had a chance of her belly stretching beyond imagination, or the mother who’s cancer robbed her of gray hair.

I am blessed. So far, God has given me the gift of aging, and I thank Him for that. I’m embracing my wrinkles, my pregnant belly and body that are growing week-by-week and finding humor in grey eyebrows (how did that happen?).

Age is a blessing and aging well is not the result of a great moisturizer but in accepting our limitations and depending on God’s limitless love and acceptance of us no matter the age, size, or wrinkle.

Your (aging) sister in Christ,
Leah

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leah-from-twitterLeah Darrow, who worked as a professional model in New York City after her debut on cycle three of the reality TV show America’s Next Top Model, is now a Catholic speaker. She has a bachelor of arts degree in psychology from the University of Missouri-St. Louis, was a full time apologist for Catholic Answers from 2010 through 2013, and is working on her master’s degree in theology at the Augustine Institute in Denver, Colorado. Follow her on Twitter: @leahdarrow. This post originally appeared on leahdarrow.com and was used with permission.

[1] CBS New York (online), Article: Copy Kate: Women Increasingly Seeking Surgery To Replicate Duchess’ Nose, January 31, 2013

[2] The American Society of Aesthetic Plastic Surgery (online); Article: Cosmetic Surgery: 15 years of facts and figures, May 3, 2012.

[3] This is not to say that all plastic surgeries are distortions of beauty. Clearly, some may be needed for serious medical/personal needs.

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My Five Favorite Movies for October

October is the first month of my favorite three of the year, the start of a season devoid of every color but brown in Florida but bright and brisk almost everywhere else (or so I hear). It’s when I wear sweaters no matter the weather because I like to act sometimes like I don’t live where wearing winter garb doesn’t make sense. It’s the month that ends a week before my birthday, on one of my favorite holidays:

Halloween.

That October 31 is one of my favorite days is a surprise to some of my acquaintances, probably in part because I quit trick-or-treating in fourth grade and went to a school from fifth grade through twelfth where you’d be written up for wearing black or orange on Halloween.

But there is warmth and comfort in the season, which smells like pumpkin spice, and in big bowls of candy I’ll hand out to strangers and in scary movie nights with all the lights out. It’s a sign for me, of an incoming birthday and an impending Advent, of a corner turned toward Christmas.

This season, I am — so far, by far — the busiest I’ve ever been. Odds are bad I’ll have a lot of time to dedicate to how I’d usually spend it, which includes watching my five favorite movies for October. Here they are in random order. Perhaps you’ll enjoy ’em on my behalf:

Poltergeist: Some things at first can’t be explained, like how Carol Anne — the youngest of the three Freeling children — gets stuck inside the family’s television, and why Poltergeist is one of my favorite movies. But the flick, written by Steven Spielberg, et al, has been among my favorites since childhood, when I’m fairly certain I first watched it with my maternal grandparents. I can’t count how many times I’ve seen it, but I still jump during several scenes (especially when Robbie’s toy clown turns up in an unexpected place).

The Orphanage: The first time I saw the Orphanage, I sat on one side of the couch and my best friend sat on the other. At the end of the film, we discovered we both subconsciously had scooted into the middle, because we really were that scared. The movie, produced in part by Guillermo del Toro, is in Spanish with English subtitles, has a happy ending for a horror movie, and is part of why I am kind of afraid of the dark. (Worth it!)

The Blair Witch Project: Required viewing for a class I took in college, this movie — which you’ll either love or hate — has a whole lot of nothing in it but is shot and directed so you are scared while watching it anyway. In it, three young adults embark on foot through the woods, in a search on film for the “Blair witch.” They get lost, mad at each other, and very, very scared when what they hear in the dark can’t be identified. Watch ’til the end, even if you’re bored, ’cause the end totally makes it.

Halloween: Because best theme song ever. Hear it here.

Casper: Who among us didn’t kind of have a crush on Casper, as he appeared in human form toward the end of the movie? In this film, the ghost befriends Kat — played by Christina Ricci — who moved into a haunted mansion with her dad. Lucky for the pair, her father is a ghost expert and Casper is just the kind of friend Kat needs. It’s warm and fuzzy enough to be among my five favorites.

What are YOUR favorite movies for October?