"I gotta feeling..."

“I gotta a feeling…

You have heard the song. It was all the rage this summer bumping its way through clubs, car stereo’s and iPods. It is on repeat on my MacBook right now. I’m so close to tasting the end of the semester, it is amazing.

…I know we’ll have a ball…

Do you ever get to that point in your week where you sit back and think, “Wow, this is amazing.” I had that moment just right now as I was leafing through a copy of The Elements of Style and A Manual for Writers of Research Papers, Theses, and Dissertations. Dorked out again, but this time with writing guides. Love it!

…Jump off the sofa lets get it off…

I am finishing my third semester of graduate school and preparing to write my thesis. It sounds scary and looks even scarier, but it also looks like a fun mountain to climb right now. I have enjoyed meshing my two worlds of communication and ministry into one paper. Who knew writing at the graduate school level could be so much fun?

…let’s do it…

Perhaps it is more fun in a challenging way. Learning this new writing style of research papers is a different thing in my life. I am used to consulting the AP Style book, but now there is a style manual for theses writers. Love it!

…round and round, up and down, around the clock…

And now that I will be engaging in a longer term writing project for the next two months, it will be a push at times to create and write. But once again I am praying that the love of writing will carry me through to the end.

…Woohoo”

“Yes, I’m alive.”

Entering into the holiday season, I jump on the bandwagon of genuine thankfulness. It is not so much that I want to go around and hug everyone, although that is probably the case most days. This is the time of the semester when the world starts to cave in and my studies engulf me.

But this time it is much different. My schedule was very heavy in the middle of the semester and has tapered off in the end. The recent reminder of becoming thankful was a text from a good friend.

I have been avoiding many gatherings and social events much of the semester because I was tired from school, work or ministry. I had left many of my communities behind during the months of October and November because there was much to accomplish.

Without any substantial contact with good friends, it felt a little isolating and busy working through one project after another. This all slowed down after the conclusion of my last retreat and after a weekend trip to New York for a friend’s wedding.

A good friend of mine sent a random text last week, ‘Hi. Are you alive.” I laughed a little but mostly out of embarrassment. It had not crossed my mind to call, text or e-mail him. I became wrapped up in the bubble that is my world. Immediately after he sent the text, I called him and apologized for my sudden disappearance.

I am thankful for friends and loved ones who managed to reach out to me continually throughout the past two crazy months because I was too busy to think about scheduling time to talk or catch up. Texts like, ‘Hi Are you alive,’ kept me laughing and going.

I will be paying it forward in coming weeks. If you know me and I have your number, do not be surprised if you get a text that says, “Hi! Are you alive?” And if it happens to be that you are too busy to text back send a quick message that says, “Yes, I’m alive.”

Paradise and peace aboard Lake Shore

There are two things I love more than anything else: The Sunday NY Times and rides aboard Amtrak. Those are and will always continue to be markers in my life that indicate a slower pace of life and a flag to slow down. I’m going to sound like I belong in train riders anonymous but it has been 10 years since my last ride on Amtrak.

The last time I chugged along the rail lines, I was in college for the first time. I was returning home after a trip to visit a friend in Central California. The train wound around majestic mountains and for a brief moment there was a peak at the Pacific Ocean. I think I wrote a long love letter to a guy I was dating at the time. I packed my backpack with various CDs and danced in the back of the train.

Now, I’m 10 years older and I’m seated beside a book about Native American Liberation Theology. I’m armed with iTunes and my MacBook. I have about six hours before I’ll arrive home tonight. But this journey is supposed to decompress my last three weekends on the road with students and friends. I’m heading home after a friend’s wedding in New York.

I spoiled myself a little today with the $6.00 purchase of a Sunday edition of the NYT. It does cost a bit to support daily journalism, but it is worth it. The Sunday edition gives the reader so many opportunities to delve into the creative and untouched. When I was working full-time, the Sunday newspaper was my only companion most Sundays until I attended the 5:30 p.m. Mass at San Carlos Cathedral. It gave me room to breathe. There was never any pressure to do anything except read, read, read.

It calms me to read the Book Review and the Travel Section. The conversation and ambiance of a train ride seems a little more peaceful to me. You chug by at a slow, slow speed. You peak into people’s backyards and wave to toddlers hoisted above their mother’s shoulders waiting to wave to the train conductor.

I really don’t think there is any other way to ride the train than with the notion of reading a book or newspaper or even composing a letter or in this case a blog.

Three weeks of travel, longing for continuity

It has been a long three weeks of back-to-back retreat weekends and group projects. Logistically, the past month has been a nightmare trying to get to planning meetings and one-on-one meetings with students.

I was lucky enough to spend the first weekend of November on a Halftime Retreat with the Intersections Project of Boston College. This weekend is dedicated to helping students find their vocation. My job on this retreat was to prepare a team of eight undergrads to lead their groups and give powerful talks. The experience was priceless. It was challenging at times trying to meet people at all hours of the day and night. A few meetings went past 10:30 p.m. and my work schedule required that I be up and ready to go at 8:30 a.m. the next morning. It was a little brutal, but definitely worth it.

The relationships I forged on that retreat certainly strengthened my desire to continue in ministry with young people and college students.

Last weekend I was on retreat with Salt and Light. This group is my contextual ed placement through the STM. My job is to spend about eight hours a week with that program working on a variety of tasks and meeting with students. I had a minimal role on this retreat and prepared the team building activities. Working with this retreat reminded me of retreats I would have gone on in high school. There were fun games and activities. And our snack spread was pretty delicious.

Those who know me asked if I was ready to spend back-to-back weekends on retreat and I said, ‘Yes.’ It took huge amounts of energy to peddle through the second week, but the emotional returns were powerful. It is never ideal to spend consecutive weekends away from graduate studies, but somehow it worked in the end.

Now, I’m working on a 5-page paper at the Syracuse Airport for the next few hours. I’m awaiting a few folks before I head to a rehearsal dinner for my friend’s wedding. I’ve seen three different states of the country in three weeks and even more important, I was able to engage in relationships and conversations with various people, which is something I certainly will cherish these last few weeks of the semester.

Oh, and I’m really looking forward to spending a weekend in Boston.

Forty eight hours with Three Key Questions

I’m exhausted, inspired and humbled as I write this. I’m exhausted after spending the past weekend on retreat with forty or so undergraduates talking about vocational discernment.

I’m inspired and humbled by the stories they shared about their faith, their at times dysfunctional families and their college experiences.

Spending the past eight weeks, preparing my eight leaders for a weekend Halftime retreat was a fun and tiring experience. It is nothing new for anyone who has worked closely with teenagers or college students. You work late into the night preparing for and getting everyone pumped for the event. You amble into meetings after a 10-hour day of school and work and you just don’t know how much energy you can give.

But they inspired me with their desires to be hopeful and to be intentional. There were so many people that made instant connections and hopefully lifelong friendships. One woman and I talked about journalism after she told me she worked with the NY Times for a spell. Another young woman and I started chatting about the Philippines and our respective families still living there. One young lady was struggling and had reached rock bottom, and we sat for awhile trying to joke and laugh.

All of this gives me a warm feeling inside as I sit surrounded with the idea that learning to push others is where I see my own growth. I learn how to be supportive and understanding. I also learn about showing compassion and gratitude. And personal handwritten notes for the team go a long way toward confidence building.

Now, after spending the last eight Sunday nights going over the Three Key Questions such as 1) What gives me joy, 2) What am I good at? And 3) Who does the world need me to be?

I’m a little misty-eyed about Sunday nights now that I have them to study instead of plan. It is a good feeling of accomplishment and an even greater feeling of humility.

One never really stops being a journalist

These past two days I have really thought about whether or not I could consider myself a journalist. I attended a presentation last night about a book on the UFW and Cesar Chavez. The presentation was given by a woman who considers herself a journalist and as someone who worked in the profession for 25 years.

Anyhow, the talk itself was interesting. I learned a little bit of history about the United Farm Worker movement and Chavez, which were both big topics for me in Monterey, Calif. as an education and crime reporter. I was on the edge of my seat most of the time because there was so much information being detailed that helped connect the pieces of my former job and region of the country.

After the talk there were 20 minutes for questions and answers, and I asked one about the backlash of the book and perhaps the reaction from the UFW and communities that were highlighted. I identified myself as a journalist first and asked the question. The author said she is not their favorite person right now.

Soon after we were dismissed a man from the talk came up and said, 'Oh, you are a journalist?' And I said, "Well, I worked as a journalist in that community until last year, but now I'm a student studying ministry and theology at BC." Then, he said, "Oh, I thought you said you were a journalist when you introduced yourself."

I left it at that and grabbed crackers to go. It was an awkward feeling having him dismiss the fact that I was not currently pursuing a major story or lead. I have done freelance journalism occasionally in Boston and I have a gig or two lined up post-graduation.

As a journalist you are taught to look at things differently and question everything. You develop a certain sense about people and you pursue the truth with a passion. That never leaves you. Being more than a year outside of daily journalism, I introduce myself as a journalist from time-to-time and that may never change.

Hug a tree!

Sometime between the ages of 10 and 12-years-old I decided that the earth would be my best friend. I created sayings on my shirt that said, 'Save The Earth Now,' and gave myself the nickname of STEN, which is very much that acronym plastered for the world to see. My younger brother will lovingly call me that when I'm back home in California.

I ran for and was elected to the position of Safety and Ecology Officer for my Catholic grade school. I wrote letters to groups within the school encouraging them to use recycled paper and not use styrofoam. I made my own recycled paper and wrote letters on it. I created an image of the earth using blue and green felt and put that on a large T-shirt to wear to the ninth grade dance in high school. Oh, I'm a total dork.

This is much to much information coming out now as an adult. But in a roundabout way all those initial desires and accomplishments as a child have resurfaced through graduate school. I am studying with John Hart, a professor of Christian Ethics, who has published many things on the environment and I'm drawn to theologians who take the environment into consideration.

Two days ago I had the pleasure of listening to theologian Sally McFague give a talk on Cities, Climate Change, and Christianity: Religion and Sustainable Urbanism. It was many of my favorite topics rolled into one talk given by one of my favorite theologians. She stressed thinking of the earth as a body instead of a machine that constantly creates new life for us. She talked about decisions she has had to make to live a more sustainable lifestyle. She made me laugh.
She told us we want too much and we need to stop wanting more.

The list can go on and oftentimes does when it comes to my passion of the environment. Looking through my window this morning, I see the yellowish, orange and red leaves. And there is that crisp feeling when you step outside wearing a sweater and corduroys.

On the bus ride home the night after McFague's talk, I began reflecting on the lifestyle I live and how to be more conscious of the environment. I mulled around theologial and practical ideas. Her thought about always wanting more resonated with me. It was the 11-year-old version of me, who wanted to call her friends and tell them about this amazing talk combining many passions. It takes commitment and passion for sure. It needs to also be a realization of what is feasiable and doable.

But in the meantime, as I wind down the month of October, I can only think of going back to Calif. to find that T-shirt. I mean, come on, who doesn't want to walk around school with a gigantic earth sewn onto your BC sweatshirt?