The Adventures of a Little Penguin

Jambo, good day, bonjour, buon giorno, and hello!

Thank you for all the good wishes while I was traveling.  It meant so much to get to leave with such encouragement and support.

One of the objects of my time abroad was solitude, so I corresponded very little with anyone and posted nothing here.  But now that I am back, I hope to write a bit about where I was and what I saw.  I hope to provide those curious with the stories and pictures.  I also want to share my experience and advice with anyone who plans a trip like mine.

Here is where I went.

Where I Went:
(with medical mission team from Lubbock, Texas)
June 4 --- Home - Dallas, Texas - Houston
June 5 --- London, England - Nairobi, Kenya
June 6 --- Nairobi, Kenya - Malindi, Kenya
June 7 --- Galana Ranch, Kenya
June 8 --- Galana Ranch, Kenya
June 9 --- Galana Ranch, Kenya
June 10 --- Galana Ranch - Malindi, Kenya
June 11 --- Malindi, Kenya
June 12 --- Malindi, Kenya
June 13 --- Malindi, Kenya - Mshongoleni, Kenya
June 14 --- Malindi, Kenya - Mshongoleni, Kenya
June 15 --- Malindi, Kenya - Mshongoleni, Kenya
June 16 --- Malindi, Kenya - Mshongoleni, Kenya
June 17 --- Malindi, Kenya - Mshongoleni, Kenya
June 18 --- Malindi - Nairobi - London
(with Dad and family friend)
June 19 --- London
(only with Pingu, my stuffed penguin)
June 20 --- London

Pingu at DFW airport

Pingu at Buckingham Palace during the Changing of the Guard

Pingu and Buckingham Palace

June 21 --- London - Portsmouth, England - Caen, France
June 22 --- Caen - Paris - Lourdes, France
June 23 --- Lourdes - Nice, France
June 24 --- Nice - Ventimiglia, Italy - Genova, Italy
June 25 --- Genova - Rome, Italy
June 26 --- Rome
June 27 --- Rome
June 28 --- Rome
June 29 --- Rome
June 30 --- Rome
July 1 --- Rome - Milan, Italy
July 2 --- Paris, France
July 3 --- Paris - Calais, France - Dover, England
July 4 --- Dover - London
July 5 --- London - Houston, Texas
July 6 --- Houston - Dallas - Home

All told, this is a distance of about 36,000 kilometers, roughly 4000 kilometers short of the circumference of the Earth.  I am not, of course, in the running for "furthest distance in a single trip".  That belongs to those who flew to the moon, which is nearly 400,000 km!

My dad and I laughed a good deal over our boarding passes:

According to British Airways, I am Sarah, WORLD TRAVELLER.

My grand overseas adventure was actually two separate trips, put end to end.  The Kenya trip was a medical mission trip organized by Monterrey Church of Christ in Lubbock, Texas.  We spent two weeks providing medical care to the Kenyan people.  This trip alone was life-altering.
In the months before the trip, I noticed that our connecting flight was through London.  I began to think about postponing our trip back and spending a day in London with my dad.  This evolved into spending a couple more weeks in London after that.  At the suggestion of my mum, this then evolved into traveling about Europe. It seemed silly to pay for the flight across the Atlantic Ocean and then never do anything.
Thus, a solo trip through Europe was added at the end of the Kenya trip.

I hope to write about everything I saw and did.  But for readability's sake, I will plan to break the account up into more manageable pieces and post it a bit at a time.

So this is where I have been.  I picked up words in four languages in four weeks and saw bits of culture and history that blew my mind.

Next time: Kenya, Galana Ranch, and extensive musings on stewed goat.

Furlough

Hello, everyone.

Starting this Friday, I will not be posting much here until I return to the United States in early July.  I am a bit terrified; prayers are greatly appreciated.

However, I would like to say a few things before I leave.

I'm a Catholic.  It feels very strange to stand out so sharply from all the people back in my hometown.  It feels very strange to see old acquaintances at Mass, wondering if I should say something explanatory or just let it slide.  It feels very strange to rush in late to my parents' church's service, fresh from Mass, just trying to be quiet (and to not genuflect or cross myself at any point).

A gentle peace has come over me.  Normally, going back to my parents' house is very difficult for me. It tends to draw me into an immaturity I thought I'd left behind. It's been a bit easier this time, though.  Going through with my conversion, an act so blatantly contrary to their wishes, has set me free in many ways.  Graduating has probably helped as well.  In ways I don't begin to understand, the grace of the Eucharist seems to almost carry me.  I'm not sure why I'm surprised; that's what the Sacraments do, after all.  I wish so much I could give that grace to the people I love, but I can't think of a gracious way to say it without watering it down.

I remain as convinced as ever that this is the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me.   It's a strange state of thankful incredulity.  Such a wonderful gift has been given to me!  Why has the Lord God chosen this, and this to me?  Why me?


Now, switching gears completely...

I am getting quite incredibly excited about my birds.  I am planning to get one or two parakeets when I get back.

These are parakeets:

They are also known as budgerigars, or just budgies.

Budgies are incredibly social animals, known to form deep attachments to their lifelong mates. They are very intelligent creatures with a sweet disposition.

Originally from Australia, budgies in the wild live in enormous flocks.  Despite their highly social nature, among themselves they are purported to have no pecking order or sense of rank.  This is highly bizarre to me, as I've never known a species that had no sense of rank.  Dogs, cats, most birds, and even humans do.

But anyway, I love birds very, very much.  Budgies are easy to care for and make good first-time birds.  I plan to eventually have at least two, as a solitary budgie will probably be unhappy. (Keeping one is not too awful, if you can provide the many hours' worth of daily social interaction the birds require.  If you have two, however, they are much happier and do not rely on you to act as their flock.)

So yes, I am very much looking forward to having goofiness of this nature in my abode next year.

Please say prayers that we are all safe!  God be with you.

Rotation

Today I'm studying at the library and will be pretty much all day.

As the moments I have left in college wind down, the worth left in each one seems to condense.  They all pass with a deep thump of some significance, and I feel the time slipping away acutely.

This was supposed to be the best time of my life.  Is it really just downhill from here?  If this was the best, where do I go from here?

All my life, I was raised to look towards college like many girls look towards their weddings.  When I came home sad because I'd been snubbed at school, or when I opened with, "Guess what, Mom?!  Guess what we learned!!!", I was always comforted and encouraged with,
"Wait until you get to college."

And it was magical in every way, completely full of all the things I'd wanted it to be.  (I had hoped to be planning a wedding at this point.  But that was not to be, and probably for the best.)

But now it's over.  Where do we go from here?

Soon it will be finished, and then I'll feel it all slip away.  When it's gone, I'll look up and try to figure out where I am and what's left.  But I don't want to move on a minute too soon.  As long as I'm still here, I want to keep it close and cherish it.

It's a precarious balance, but I feel nothing else will do.

I've been thinking about the song I linked a lot today.  For some reason, it seems appropriate.  It's about the end of Eva Peron's life, when her illness leaves her of little use to her husband and political partner, Juan Peron.  Thank you for giving me a chance to say the things I was concealing.  God be with you.

Raindrops on Roses, Whiskers on Kittens, Bright Copper Kettles, Confession

Today I went to Confession for the second time.  I know, I just went before Easter.  But I feel I should err on the side of more frequently, at least at first.  I am still a young penguin in the faith.

(Really I just wanted an excuse to put a baby penguin on my blog.)

The two times I've been to Confession, it's been a profoundly beautiful experience.  I've dreaded it both times, waiting in the line with my heart pounding.  Both times, I've left with an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

The examination of conscience does a lot.  I think through my life, going over the Ten Commandments guide in my booklet, and try to think about the times I'd rather forget.  It's a process of opening myself up, and every new memory of sin that emerges crushes me in its own small way.
But in the weirdest way, being crushed bit by bit is wonderful.  I find a quiet rest in realizing that I am not good, but God is.  Comparing myself to God during an examination of conscience produces both the painful realization of how base I am and the glorious realization of how good God is.

Then I drive to the church and wait in the chapel.  That is, I look up at the crucifix, with images of the stations of the cross all around me, and hold a list of my sins in my hand.  I know what is about to happen; that's why I drove across town to be here.  I'm about to be absolved of my sins.
But in those quiet moments, it sinks in how and why and by Whom my sins are forgiven.

Both times, the priest was nicer than I had expected.  Maybe he's just bored, but he's kind and patient and does not reply, "You did what?!?!" or "Oh, is that all?" He may be making faces at me behind the screen; I do not know.  At that point, I do not care.

Then he gives me absolution.  But the priest himself does not forgive my sin.  He also gives me my penance.  But my penance does not forgive my sin.  Jesus Christ forgives my sin, and as I left the confessional, I was once again overwhelmed by the mercy that had been shown me.  At that point, little is on my mind except, "Thank You.  Thank You.  Thank You..."

And then I do my penance, and I have just received one of the Sacraments of the Catholic Church.  I've been humbled by my penance, thinking, "But Jesus was crucified for me.  All I have to do is ____?"  But in God's wonderful way, it's not about me.  If it were, I might start thinking I'd earned it.  My penances have also both surprised me in how relevant and effective they were.  For example, this time, I was given a prayer by St. Augustine to meditate on.  The priest had no way of knowing that I'm named after St. Augustine and find his work inspiring.  Yet there the prayer was in my hands, reaching out to me and wrapping in new and beautiful ways around my soul.

We are Easter people and Alleluia is our song.  Let us sing "Alleluia" here and now in this life, so that we may sing it one day in the world to come, when we are set free.

How happy will be our shout of "Alleluia" as we enter heaven, how carefree, how secure from any assault, where no enemy lurks and no friend dies.

Advance in virtue, in true faith, and in right conduct.  Sing up!

 I wondered on the way in how I ever lived without Confession.  Confession is a "Catholic thing", but I'm starting to see the beauty of it, the benefits of it.  Far from tying me down to lists of my sins, Confession is so freeing.  It appears that God in His wisdom recognized that the girl who can't remember to take medication without helpful little boxes might need a Sacrament to remember His mercy.

I want this for my loved ones.  I'm toying with the idea of suggesting some of the aspects of Confession to my closest friends and family.  Even just writing down my sins is spiritually helpful to me.  Even just bringing them up is therapeutic.  I think confessing them explicitly to God would be beneficial, and knowing that the price has been paid for that sin, specifically, could be life-changing.  It has been for me.  (Of course, I feel there is an even better solution, but won't bring that up to them.)

In any case, I'm beginning to feel about Confession as Jen Fulwiler did: "I can't believe this is free!"

(I'm smiling now, because when I went to get that link, I noticed what else she said about Confession: I don't see how people live without the sacrament of Confession.  I'm glad I'm not the only one.)

God is good.

The Girl I Am And Could Never Understand

I find myself saying and doing many of the same things I remember Jamie doing right after her confirmation.  I just realized it because I caught myself listening to John Taverner in Latin and remembered how Jamie gained an intense fondness for both Latin and Gregorian chant after her Easter Vigil.  Her new interests bewildered me.

I remember that she decided to learn Latin.  I thought she was losing it.

I remember that she started praying before meals, and dressing up for Mass.  I just shook my head.

I remember how much she wanted to talk about it, all the time, to everyone.  I listened, but remained befuddled by all she was learning.

How time changes us!  May I always grow to see in myself over time the people I so admire!

On Being Catholic

Writing a blog post with this title fills me with tremendous joy.


At the end of the Easter Vigil, Father Michael addressed our RCIA group all sitting together.  He started out,
"And to all of our new Catholics, not the elect, not the candidates, but fully-fledged Catholics..."


I still must remind myself that I am one of them.  I'm no longer special or a subject of uncertainty or in some difficult-to-explain state.  I'm just your normal, garden-variety Catholic.


Here is how I feel about that:

The Meat of This Post:

One question I have is how to relate to my Protestant friends and family.  On the surface, this question is very simple: with love, of course.

But digging a little deeper, I find some real uncertainty.  Am I to hope and fervently pray that my Protestant loved ones come to the Catholic Church?

Coming to the Catholic Church was like coming home for me.  It's competitively in the running for the best decision I've ever made and the best thing that's ever happened to me.  The beauty of this faith, the lucidity of its doctrines, the deep unity that binds the Church together, and the breathless, giddy joy of quietly discovering it all for the first time... I want that for my loved ones.

And of course, receiving the Eucharist is glorious and moving in a thousand tiny ways.  I desperately want that for my loved ones. Naturally, if I think I've found home, I want my friends and relatives to come home, too.

Yet... their faith is so true and real, and always has been.  I know this; I've lived it.  How can I look at my devout mother and tell her her faith lacks something vital? 

I struggle with balancing between two extremes:

1. Protestantism is basically as good as Catholicism; it all depends on what you want and where God puts you.  The Church is the Church; it's all good.
2. Protestantism is sufficient, but only just; it really lacks something.  Protestants are not in full communion with the real Church Jesus established.

Does anyone else have this problem?

I am beginning to think that the answer may lie in Acts 10:

While Peter was still speaking these words, the Holy Spirit came on all who heard the message.  The circumcised believers who had come with Peter were astonished that the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out even on Gentiles.  For they heard them speaking in tongues and praising God.

   Then Peter said, “Surely no one can stand in the way of their being baptized with water. They have received the Holy Spirit just as we have.”  So he ordered that they be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ. Then they asked Peter to stay with them for a few days.

In this case, the Holy Spirit came on the household of Cornelius.  Cornelius was a devout man, honoring God as he knew how.   For the believers at the time, the shocking part was that Cornelius was a Gentile. But it is also unusual for the Holy Spirit to come on someone not yet baptized.  Yet God chose to bless this man and his household with a special and unusual outpouring of the Holy Spirit.  This outpouring was real, it was from God, and it produced the gifts of the Spirit demonstrated in the older believers.


However, Peter did not begin looking to Cornelius for advice.  This event was seen as a special gift of God, not implemented as normal for the rest of the Church.  Eventually, Cornelius and his family were given the normative Sacrament of Christian conversion: baptism.


Perhaps Cornelius' household can help us see how to interact with our Protestant brothers and sisters.  In His wisdom and kindness, God appears to have given our Protestant brothers and sisters the Holy Spirit, along with the fruits of the Spirit and the love by which believers are to be known.  Their faith is real, it is from God, and it produces the devotion to God and love for one another we see in faithful Catholics.


Despite this, I do not believe division from the original Church is the normative state.  I think the validity of Protestantism is a special gift of God, not the rule.  God in His goodness may maintain this special gift to Protestants all their lives, or He may choose to call them to the Catholic Church.  Which He does is, of course, entirely His business.  (Of course, in a different sense, God alone gifts the Catholic Church with its faith, too!)


Does this Scripture actually apply?  How have you handled Protestant friends or family members in your life?  Feel free to comment or PM me if you have insights.

Christ Alone

Happy Easter!  Christ is risen!  May this truth resound throughout your life!

Tonight at the Easter Vigil, Christ and His resurrection were proclaimed in every imaginable way, in every imaginable medium, through every word and action and song, as it should be.  From the gold and white of the vestments and the drapes on the altar and the tapestries to the white lilies all over the sanctuary to the Exsultet to the Scriptures read in darkness to the candles to the Psalms we sang to the beaming radiance on Father Michael's (and Father Wade's and Deacon Dave's) face as he placed his hands on my head and silently prayed for the Holy Spirit for me and made the sign of the cross in sweet-smelling Chrism oil on my forehead, to the hope and reverence as he held up the body of Christ and placed it in my hands, to the joy on each face as he dismissed us, to the final blessing, to walking out of the sanctuary as the Hallelujah Chorus played behind us to the glory of God, every moment proclaimed the resurrection.

I cannot fully describe everything that happened tonight.  I cried at least five separate times. Watching my new friends being baptized was one of the best parts.

I have imagined what the "laying on of hands" would feel like.  The reality was better than I ever imagined.  The oil is still on my forehead, and it smells so beautiful.  I'm laughing at myself as I scheme how I can get away with never washing my forehead again.
When Father prayed and asked that the Holy Spirit would come on me, the old, beautiful voice I've come to know seemed to smile, and said simply, "I have accepted you."

As I was waiting in my pew for the Eucharist to be given, I noticed suddenly how incredibly hungry I was.  But it was the strangest hunger I have ever had; the need and longing rose from my very soul.  I realized with a start that I wasn't physically hungry.  My soul was hungry for the Eucharist.  I must have looked so strange sitting there with this befuddled look on my face as I figured it out and as I then forced myself to sit still and wait.  I've waited nine months, and longed for the Eucharist nearly every day.  But I had never before needed it like I did.

My hands shook a bit when I finally approached Father Michael.  I cannot remember ever seeing anyone look so deeply, genuinely full of joy as he held up the bread for me and said, "The body of Christ."

I held out my hands and replied, "Amen."  Then he placed the body of Christ in my hands.  I'm glad I've watched so many people take Communion; otherwise it would not have been beyond me to just stand there and stare at the body of Christ in my hands, speechless.  As it was, instinct took over, and I put the wafer in my mouth.

Eric asked me later to describe how I felt, admonishing me with a smile, "You're an English minor.  Use your words."  But for Eucharist...




... there are no words.  No words.  There are no words.





The mind just waits in silence when the soul leaps in glorious joy.   Maybe that's why we simply say, "Amen."

The joy is overwhelming.  I do not have the resources to handle the magnitude of the beauty, the glory, the magnificent depth and width and height of the gift God has provided.  Maybe that's why we have a word: Alleluia.

As a mathematics major, I offer the following summary of the night:

Lord, Your glory is overwhelming; Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia.  Thank You, thank You, thank You, thank You.