As of today...

My cousin sends her older daughter off to kindergarten today.  As a record, and to serve as comparison for later years, she documented some favorites, which are bound to change as the mind of a 5-year-old matures and experiences new and exciting things.  

Addi's list

Favorite color: pink
Favorite singer: Taylor Swift and Justin Bieber
Favorite song: "Toes" or "Vaya con Dios"
Favorite number: 100

Favorite book: Care Bears (YES!)
Favorite show: Doc McStuffins
Favorite food: cake (a girl after my own heart)
Favorite sport: cheerleading
What I want to be when I grow up: teacher

 

My list

 

Favorite color: purple
Favorite singer: tough one, I have so many options that aren't Justin Bieber.  Currently enjoying Kip Moore in preparation for an amazing show at Red Rocks tomorrow.
Favorite song: Come Monday
Favorite number: 3
Favorite book: Orthodoxy, G.K. Chesterton
Favorite show: Castle
Favorite food: pie (or cheese, or strawberries, dark chocolate, pizza)
Favorite sport: soccer
What I want to be when I grow up: more grown up

Actually, I told my soccer coach in high school, when he asked me to describe who I wanted to be in ten years, that I wanted to be "happy, healthy, and holy."  Oh, the wisdom of a teenager.  I still want that.  I don't think those favorites are bound to change all that much since those ones have been the same for about 5 years.  

Some favorites that may change:

Beer: Dry Dock Pumpkin Ale, Rogue Hazelnut Brown Nectar, Widmer Bros Dark Saison

Soccer player: Baby Horse (Alex Morgan)

Athlete: Missy Franklin

Guilty Pleasure: Call Me Maybe

Time Killer: Reviewing my Kili packing list

Song to blast in the car: Something 'Bout A Truck

Icecream: Chocolate Hazelnut Marscapone (that's all one flavor, and it's to die for)

Phrase: Tutaonana Kesho, Lala Salama, Poa Kachizi Kama Ndizi (I'm practicing my Swahili)

Also, my blog is being stupid and locking in font choices, so I'm sorry for the formatting ugliness.  Deal with it.

Rocky Mountain High

Reasons why I love hiking in Colorado:
-no bugs
-the mountain air smells amazing
-5 minutes into my hike, I look up, and BOOM! there's a deer 20 feet away
-(sometimes) I can bring my dog
-other friendly Coloradans are out enjoying the same hikes
-the wildflowers
-you can drive 3 hours or 30 minutes and still feel all wilderness-y
-food tastes better at the top of a 14er
-summit bears
-boulder fields
-red rocks
-views like this

Thanks. Just Thanks.

Tonight, we celebrated a great man, a great life, a great ministry, a great sacrifice, a great service, a great blessing.  David Tschumper hit the twenty year milestone of youth ministry at St. Thomas More.  Twenty years in any career is a lot.  Twenty years at any employer is a lot.  Twenty years in youth ministry at the same church is nearly unheard of.  To say that I am in awe is an understatement.  I was in high school for years 7-10, and certainly stuck around enough afterward to feel a part of some of the later years as well.  It's really humbling to look at how he answered his call.  Youth ministry is a ministry of planting seeds, by David's definition.  And you don't always get to see the fruits of those seeds.  I was there for the days when he felt like hanging up his hat.  I was there for the days when it all felt worth it.  And I was there for a lot of memories on the days in between. 

By loose definition, I am in a profession that saves lives.  At times, I have made interventions that have prevented certain and life-threatening harm to a child.  Most of my minutes and hours spent in pharmacy aren't that dramatic, but I am proud of what I do.  I looked around that gym tonight, at all the lives that David has saved, and I was put very soundly in my place.  In my biased opinion, he has saved more lives than firefighters, more than paramedics, more than cardiac surgeons, more than Navy SEALs.  And the lives he saves are eternal lives.  He saves souls.  Well, God saves souls through David.  But you get the picture.  He has taken misguided youth, lost youth, struggling youth, and given them a second home, given them a purpose, given them love and hope, given them conviction and truth.  And those youth have grown up to become priests, religious, youth ministers, missionaries, husbands and fathers, mothers and wives, teachers, mentors, leaders.  They have become people of integrity and faith.  They have become beacons of light in a world that is threatening darkness.  And they have in turn saved other lives, other souls. 

Tonight brought back an awful lot of memories.  Joyful moments filled with the unconditional love of STM; tearful moments of WYD, JTL, SLW and all the other abbreviation-laden ministries; enlightening moments when a tiny piece of God was revealed to me.  Each memory carried with it a sense of home, of peace, of belonging, and most especially gratitude.  My heart is full.  And the words I want to say are best summed up by a song that expresses that gratitude.  For the incredible blessing of an incredible man.  David Tschumper--thanks, just thanks.

Thanks- for keepin' track of me
Thanks- for givin' a dang about me
Thanks- for sayin' that you love me
Thanks- just thanks

Thanks- for lettin' me know you care
Thanks- for always bein' there
Thanks- for makin' me do my share
Thanks- just thanks

Can't thank you enough
I'm high from you liftin' me up
 
Thanks- for sayin' what you said
Thanks- for clearin' out my head
Thanks- for givin' me hope instead
Thanks- just thanks

Thanks- you left me who I was
Thanks- you showed me what a smile does
Thanks- you loved me just because
Thanks- just thanks

Thanks- for cryin' when I bleed
Thanks- for wavin' when I leave
Thanks- for bein' what I believe
Thanks- just thanks

Counting My Blessings

Enough time has passed that my heart is no longer in my throat when I talk about it.  Well, not in my throat and pounding and making me nauseous.  For all the grief that my dog causes me, I do love him.  And I'm pretty sure I wouldn't do very well if he pulled stupid stunts like this on a regular basis.

To add pictures to the colorful commentary that I've been giving everyone over the last couple days:

Setting the stage--Kolbe had done brilliantly on his first 14er two weeks ago, navigating the boulder fields of Mt. Bierstadt like a pro.  I had no qualms about taking him on another one, my second summit of Gray's Peak (3rd attempt, but who's counting).  I even remembered to bring the good leash this time. 

All smiles as we started out.

We hit 13,000 feet without a hitch.  Then we stumbled upon a couple mountain goats.  Not my first sighting, but definitely Kolbe's first. 

I started with a firm grip on the leash as he lunged for the mystery beast.

After the first goat went behind the ridge, I focused my attention uphill and onward.  Another goat lay another couple hundred yards in the distance.  Little did I know the first one came back to make another appearance.  Kolbe ripped the leash out of my hand and started sprinting for the goat up the hillside to the right.  Unfortunately, he hasn't lived his whole life navigating the loose rock.  He quickly lost purchase and started tumbling down to the left, gravity winning over instinct and balance.  Just before hitting the tiny landing before the cliff dropped off several hundred feet below, survival kicked in and Kolbe skidded to a stop. 

If you can't read the arrow labels, bottom left is where Kolbe ended his slide. Top right is the goat he was trying to chase.

He sat at the bottom, glancing alternately between the goat (as if he could still get to it) and us (who were frantically screaming his name).  He wisely gave up on the goat and started back up the rock, sliding down a foot for every two he climbed.  Eventually, his leash caught between two rocks and I had to slide down halfway to free him. 

All things considered, ripping off a couple pads and a toenail, while causing a fair amount of bleeding, left him relatively unscathed.  He was actually able to finish the hike, albeit with a lot of coaxing. 

A successful summit.

 He was walking fine, just worn out.  Trust me, I don't consider it dog abuse, because he obviously felt well enough on the way down to resort to humping dogs he just met.  Yes, he's neutered.  The back of my dad's car looked a little bit like the storage site of a dead body, but once I got everything bandaged, he looked like a champ. 
 
Someone asked when our next 14er would be.  With him, probably never.  No wonder I call him Spaz Butt. 

I threw a wish in the well, don't ask me, I'll never tell

I know it's teeny-bopper, bubble-gum, middle school pop, but I have had "Call Me, Maybe" stuck in my head for about the last 24 hours.  It's an awful song to have stuck in your head, because it's the same thing over and over and over again.  But it's a fun song, catchy and relatable.  And I graced all of my coworkers with my pathetic rendition for about the entirety of my shift last night.  Here are some other musings while the Orkin man does his thing at this God-awful hour in the morning:

It's only a God-awful hour because I was out until about 2am last night.  We decided to mix it up from our usual Aurora happy-hour hangout to appease some folks who don't live out that way.  You know, the folks who bailed on us anyway.  So, we hit up Falling Rock Tap House, which I've been dying to go back to since the Denver Microbrew Tour introduced me last year.  A long drive from Fitzsimmons, but so is anything that's open past midnight and isn't seedy.  I got really excited browsing their beer menu before I'd even left work.  I had five beers picked out, knowing I'd have to narrow it down to two.  Good news, they were out of three of them.  Problem solved.  That's the only scenario in which being out of great beer is good news.  Bad news, I was already so tired by the time I pulled up on Blake Street that I totally spaced putting money in the meter.  Suddenly, a night of (expensive) beer and snacks added up, what with that $25 parking ticket and all.  Oops.  And then, there was the getting home just before 2am and having to get up to greet the Orkin man at 8am. 

So, on to pest control.  The joys of home ownership continue.  Snakes, hornet's nest, spiders, and of course, the reason for the visit--mice.  I feel a little redeemed by my Tuesday efforts of cleaning up the mice nest and setting my own traps until the pros could come in.  One mouse caught, unknown hordes to go.  Hopefully the additional traps and sprays work or I could end up with mutinous roommates.  And murine roommates.  Ha ha.

And now we will play ready, set, word vomit in order to finish the blog post in time to go shopping with Kelly.  Because, remember, after last night, spending money is just what I need.  I already have a hard enough time making it to Rockies' games, and now they suck so bad, I'm not sure I want to go.  It isn't summer in Denver without a trip to Coors Field, and I don't even have a game on the horizon.  I hit Canvas and Cocktails for the fourth time last weekend.  I'm what you call an "addicted painter."  If you need some artwork for your house, let me know.  Tickets for Dierks Bentley at Red Rocks go on pre-sale today (well, they went on pre-sale for Dierks fan-club members yesterday, for KYGO folks today), and I'm terrified I won't be able to get tickets.  One show that I would want to see no matter where he was playing, and it happens to be at the venue on my 30-before-30 list.  It would be just my luck to not get tickets.  However, I have the day off for Iron Man at Film on the Rocks, so that's a big plus.  Speaking of good movies, I found someone who has never heard of, much less seen, The Princess Bride.  Crime against humanity much?  I invited her over on Saturday.  I think I scared her.  Still playing the waiting game on the job front.  We'll see if I'm more management material than I am preceptor material.  Fingers crossed.  Trying to remember to pray.

Until next time...

Catholic and...

I just got back from my first Theology on Tap in probably over a year.  Working evenings doesn't allow me the luxury of participating in the bulk of the Denver Catholic Young Adult event calendar, but having a roommate on the ToT hospitality committee gives me very little excuse to skip when the opportunity presents itself.  The topic was "Gay and Catholic: Is there a place in the Church for me?" as presented by Eve Tushnet, a Yale-grad convert who found and joined the Catholic Church years after coming out, a rare progress of events.  This isn't a topic that I particularly enjoy spending time with, because there is a lot of animosity and misunderstanding in our culture surrounding it.  It isn't the topic that I would have chosen for my one Theology on Tap this year.  But I think it's important to continually challenge ourselves in our faith.  There is a danger to living in any comfort zone, particularly the one in which I typically reside that says that being Catholic is the logical, comfortable norm.  While I don't have the desire or the expertise to go into the Catholic teaching on homosexuality, I did find a few points of Eve's talk relevant to the challenge of living Catholic, regardless of your particular struggles. 

The first question that Eve had to answer before joining the Catholic Church was which did she believe more? That homosexuality was morally neutral or that the Catholic Church had the authority to teach on the topic of homosexuality.  She phrased it better, but you get the idea.  Her conclusion was that she believed the latter more.  For anyone struggling with a teaching of the Catholic Church, I think this is a fundamental question.  Is __________ (fill in the blank) morally neutral and/or does the Catholic Church have the authority to teach a doctrine on the matter.  You can fill in the blank with abortion, premarital sex, contraception, the death penalty, euthanasia, etc.  You can talk about the need for confession, Holy Days of Obligation, the primacy of the Eucharistic presence of Christ, or any other hot-button topic that non-Catholics and uneducated Catholics alike can argue to a pulp.  Ultimately, it comes down to a matter of faith in the Church that Christ founded and to whom He gave authority.  I don't have to understand why the Church says what She does about any of these issues, but I do believe that it is within Her scope to teach the truth about them.

Eve also mentioned that in her journey, many times she felt like Peter, saying "Lord, to whom shall we go?"  There were many moments that led her to an edge, a crossroads, and she found herself thinking that if there were anywhere else that she could possibly go, she would choose that instead.  But she realized that she didn't have anywhere else to go but straight into the arms of the bride of Christ.  That was home.  It wasn't an easy home, and if she could have taken another path, with less suffering, less doubt, she would have.  But she couldn't.  And that's what I find myself thinking when I encounter not just non-Catholics, but those who have no place for religion of any kind in their lives.  Where else are you going?  I don't have anywhere else to go and I can't imagine that what they've found could possibly be any better.

The final point that I want to process is Eve's distinction between a negative enactment of a vocation and a positive enactment.  The negative is "God doesn't want me to have homosexual relations" whereas the positive is "how does God want me to give and receive love within the guidance of His Church?"  You can apply this to any vocation, and I certainly see a parallel to how I am living as a single woman.  Until I am blessed with the grace of marriage (which is where I believe God is calling me), I can focus on all the things I can't do.  I can lament the childbearing years lost.  I can wallow in my loneliness of another Saturday night without a date.  I can succumb to jealousy of all my friends who are living their vocation of marriage.  Or, I can figure out how God is calling me to give and receive love in this moment.  He isn't calling me to be a wife and mother tomorrow.  But He is calling me to be a woman of God tomorrow.  And if I can figure out the best way to embody His love in that way, then when I look back, these won't be years I spent waiting for my vocation, but they will be years spent living my vocation.

I think it's important to recognize that it is difficult to be Catholic and homosexual in the same way that it is difficult to be Catholic and anything.  That your sacrifice and your cross are no more or less uniquely difficult than anyone else's.  It is difficult to be Catholic and chaste before marriage.  It is difficult to be Catholic and a doctor.  It is difficult to be Catholic and work weekends.  It is difficult to be Catholic in a materialistic, hedonistic society.  The lesson that I take from tonight is the importance of offering all our brothers and sisters in Christ compassion, support and love.  I don't have any more answers than I did three hours ago.  But I do cherish the knowledge that God knows what He is doing and He gives us a way to peace and joy, if we are only willing to accept it.

Speaking of being long overdue...

It's been awhile since I've posted, mostly because I can't keep a train of thought for longer than about seven seconds. So sitting down to write a blog post has seemed a little daunting. Plus I used all my writing skills on Hilary's Wheat Letter. Sorry to the rest of RM TEC 131, you get nothing because like every other TEC, this weekend snuck up on me without so much as a warning and I have no time. Still, sending you love and prayers.

Speaking of TEC...Angie McCann has got to have the world's most pure, most loving, most welcoming heart. I swear, every time I see her, it's like she has been waiting all day just to give me a hug. People like that make it hard to feel justified when you just want to wallow in a bad mood.

Speaking of not wallowing in bad moods...I saw a bumper sticker today that said "Don't Postpone Joy." Doesn't that just say it all? I'm so glad it didn't say "Don't Postpone Happiness" or "Don't Postpone Pleasure." Because those can leave you empty if that's all you seek. But joy, oh joy. It lifts up the soul, it is not fleeting, it grounds me in turbulent times. Sometimes I forgot the mass of joy that sits inside me. It's there, because even on the days I forget, I still believe Jesus when He said He came "that my joy may be in you and your joy may be complete." I am reminded of that joy when I catch a glimpse of the impossibly blue, white-capped Rockies. When I catch myself singing along to an upbeat song in the car. When I take stock of everything that is going right in my life. When I take that first sip of coffee. (And I want to clarify that something as mundane as coffee can bring joy rather than happiness, because when I savor it, I thank God for the blessing of the small joys in life and am reminded of His love for me)

Speaking of coffee...it's one thing I do well. I hate to brag (who'm I kidding, I love to brag), but I make a darn good cup o' joe. One more thing to offer to my future soul mate who is floating out there in the universe. Is it sad that that's what I think of when I make coffee? That I want someone to make it for? To appreciate my subtle talent for grinding beans, measuring grounds, hitting the 'on' button. Am I that lonely? I'd like to think it's just me preparing my heart to serve, but I think somewhere in there is some extreme selfishness that I'll probably need to purge before I'm ready to meet Mr. Right.

Speaking of purging...Lent is hard. Harder than I remember. It's certainly bringing to light that my will power is so weak. I consider myself to be a strong person, physically, mentally, occasionally emotionally, sometimes spiritually. But my ability to exercise self control is about up there with my ability to whistle and wink. It doesn't exist. I've tried to practice, I've tried to have people teach me tricks. But I am a weak-willed individual, and it's disheartening. However, buck up Michelle, we're more than halfway there. I will run the race, I will cross the finish line. And I will continue to stock up on sweets throughout the week, saving them for Sundays (and those blessed solemnities that seem to pop-up at the most needed times).

Speaking of weekends...so looking forward to Tracy's visit. We're gonna knock off a couple more beers on my tour (getting close to 100, folks), do a little painting at Canvas and Cocktails, hit up some fabulous restaurants, cheer on the Avs in their hunt for the playoffs, and in general try to convince her to move back to Colorado. With how crazy things have been at work, we could use another good pharmacist.

Speaking of work...someday soon, I'm going to have a drug-name pictionary t-shirt to show off. That's all I'm going to say about work, because even though I love my job, sometimes it's better not to get started on the egos of surgeons and how pleas fall on deaf ears. That's all I'm speaking of today.