Pray for Erika II

The tumor is imbedded in her brain, and they're operating today to take it out. They apparently won't know more until they open up her head and look. Surgery today.

That's all I know.

Pray for Erika

Hey y'all.

I came to mass this morning, and was rushing around getting everything ready for fundraising (the youth group is doing a 30 Hour Famine at the end of February to help end world hunger), and Fr. Todd pulled me aside. "Hey," he said. "Have you heard about Erika?"

No, I hadn't.

About two months ago, Erika's mother was diagnosed with cervical cancer. Erika and her brothers Nick and Andrew are all members of the youth group, although Andrew doesn't come much anymore. He's a senior now, and very busy with senioritis, college applications, and the general last-year crunch. Nick is, not by age exactly, the youngest member of our youth group. He's just very young. Erika is one of the most involved people in the youth group. She's awesome-- smart, talented, and a definite leader in the group, even for the older kids. She's in eighth grade.

Erika, and Nick especially, have gotten particularly involved with youth group since their mom has been sick. They volunteer for everything. They do everything. They want to lead everything.

They didn't show up on Friday or Saturday, and they didn't call, and that is very much not like them.

Erika has a brain tumor. She found out Friday night. I don't know any details-- how bad it is, if it's benign, where it is. I just don't know right now.

We're having a youth mass tonight at 6:30. We were going to have it anyway, but I"m really rallying the kids right now to come, so that we can be together and pray for Erika. And they all agree. Kids who never come to mass. Even the atheists among them. We're not doctors, but we need to do something. This is something we can do.

So, yeah. You don't know her. But pray for her.

Korea and me

You know, it's really interesting what human beings are capable of. Michael and I watched this documentary last night about Korea, and it's incredible. Most of the country is desolate poverty, but then they build up this huge, rich-looking, and almost completely empty city for visitors to see. You have people starving to death, and then children practicing every day, six hours a day, for months, to perform a dance for their god-like dictator. Then you have said god-like dictator. I mean, who the hell wants to be god-like? Who would really want people to believe they have supernatural powers?

Then you have people like me, disappointed with my job but determined to make it work. Because you know, this is a really good job. I work with teens. The hours are flexible. It's never boring. It's never the same. But I don't feel fulfilled here, and sometimes I feel completely out-of-place, and sometimes I feel like I absolutely ought to be here-- that I have something to learn or something important that I must do, or something... something.

How is it that someone with issues as boring as mine can live on the same planet as Kim Jong Il? And his people? How do we coexist?

I'm not a world famous millionaire superstar yet. But don't worry, I'm holding my breath on this one. Any moment now... any time.

In the meantime, I go back and forth between convincing myself that I am doing really good things here and that I ought to stay forever, and trying to figure out what I'm gonna do next. And how. Despite my worries that I'm doing nothing good or important, I'm becoming involved. I'm a member of the community. I think I'm even becoming a leader now. How do you leave when you're a leader? Do you even have that choice?

I guess I'm strange in the way that I feel like I'm not doing enough. I feel like...

During my time I spend helping people, I'm not helping the people who most need help.

or

During my time I spend helping people, I'm not doing the right help.

or

During my time I spend helping people, I'm not doing enough so that I feel like I should even have bothered to help in the first place.

I think most people feel like they don't do anything. But I DO do things. All the time. It's my job. How can I feel like I'm not helping when that's all I do? This has to be me messed up somehow. I have to be really wrong about something. Maybe my natural state of being is to feel inadequate, and that's what I need to fix, rather than trying to figure out what MORE I can do.

Because I'm doing such cool stuff-- and so much more cool stuff is coming up. This is a fun job, mostly. What's wrong with me that I can't sit back and enjoy it?

That's a rhetorical question. I probably don't want to know the answer.

peace, y'all.
kati

It's because I'm so fabulously talented

So... what's new in my life?

Well, after months of avoiding it, I finally got tapped for singing at the weekend masses here at St. Paul. I'd befriended the organist awhile back, and maybe in hindsight that wasn't the best idea if I were going to try to avoid this one extra position. But you know, one thing led to another, and suddenly I was singing along at the 5:00 Saturday mass last week. And it was fun, just as I'd feared. And similarly, just like I knew would happen, I accepted the invitation to come back to the Sunday 10:00 and sing then too. And I had fun with that as well.

But then-- and this is where it gets truly weird-- this guy comes up to me after mass and tells me he's going to make my weekend. He says that he's going to bring his record producer buddy to Mass to hear me sing, because when he heard me belting out "How Can I Keep From Singing?" (my solo--and plus I played the guitar accompaniment), he was just blown away!

He asked me what kind of music I played, and he dropped a bunch of names of people that I recognized as famous but not much more specifically, and he spoke in an entertainment industry sort of voice. And I kind of stared at him for awhile, and then said, "Are you serious?" Not in the "Oh-my-god-my-head-is-going-to-explode-from-excitement" sort of way, but more along the lines of, "Quit pulling my leg, Strange Person I Don't Know." I think he was rather expecting the former, and that I disappointed him with my lack of enthusiasm.

But, the fun part of all of this is that I get to tell people that I got scouted at Church. And they say, "What?" And I say, "Oh, a big time record producer is going to come and offer me a deal and I'll be a world famous millionaire superstar." Then I flip my hair and continue, "It's because I'm so fabulously talented." And they say, "What?"

Michael and I have it all planned out now. I'll go be a world famous millionaire superstar, and then he'll be able to continue to work at 8th Day for free. I'm going to have to be very firm with my producers, though, that I have time to do important things like youth group, and recording books for the blind and dyslexic, because it seems as though life would be so tedious if it was all 'world famous millionaire superstar' and no 'save the world volunteer'.

In other news, I'm reading now with Recording For the Blind and Dyslexic. I'll have a few more sessions reading, and then they'll give me a reading audition, where I'll record several different types of pieces, and after that I'll be a full-fledged volunteer reader. It's neat.

Also, I've joined 8th Day's committee called Women in Church and Society. We're putting together a day workshop about feminist issues in, well, church and society, and what we as individuals and in groups can do about them. I'm excited about it. And I really like this group. 8th Day works on the consensus model, and every person has equal say. So I, having only been to two meetings thusfar, am given equal voice in decision making. I feel so valid. I'm working this weekend on putting together a flyer, and also I'm going to see about any edits I might be able to contribute to the Creemos (we believe) statement. They've had a lot of problems with editing, so I'm hoping I can contribute something useful to it. I have experience in editing, and honestly, really enjoy it. Maybe I should become an editor. Maybe. We'll see.

But another thing...

I've been nominated for the third annual Quills Fanfiction contest in the Best Angst category! I've been writing fanfiction for a couple of years now, for fun and for ego boosts, which I get in the form of reader reviews. But dude, this takes the cake! It's so awesome! I'm so excited! I don't even know who nominated me!

Holy cow.

2006

2005 will not go down as one of my favorite years. It’s actually scored pretty low on my all-time favorite years list. I’m not even sure it would make the top fifteen, and seeing as how I can only remember twenty or so years with any clarity, I think that says something.

Oh, 2005, you were not a very good year at all. You had such potential back at the start, a year ago… but you went and wasted it with worry and stress and illness and grief. We could have had so much, you and I—but no, it was not to be. I’m only looking back now, wondering, Could I perhaps have played some small role in the ungreatness of the year? Could I perhaps have contributed to the dissatisfaction in some tiny, almost unnoticeable way?

But hey, let’s not play this game of blame. Let us not quibble and quarrel over whose life this is anyway, and up to whom is my happiness. Let’s not focus on the ruddy details of the good times that were had in this past year. Let us, instead, focus on ME, waxing philosophical as I look into the future, as I try to figure out my life and my goals and what I am going to get about doing in order to ensure that this year, this 2006, is better than the last.

I have a list that I made, back in November of 1999. I entitled it, “Things I am going to do before the world ends next month.” I still have the list somewhere, and I must say, it’s a good thing that the world didn’t actually end back then, because I haven’t done most of those things. Granted, certain of them are impossible, for instance, learning how to fly. Not in a plane or any sort of aircraft. Just by myself.

At any rate, I’ve realized again and again that every single list I ever write with my goals in life include certain things. One of them is learning to sculpt marble. One of them is saving the world. Some of them have to do with improving and testing my health and stamina. A lot of them have to do with various aspects of my spirituality. Many of them are simply frequent reminders that in order to live this life, one must live.

This year, I am learning to sculpt marble. I’ve just received my tool set. Now I must compile and create various other objects—a banker, sandbags, a dust mask, gloves, stone—and then I’ll be going. My husband got me the tools for Christmas. My mom got me a book and a gift certificate for stones. It’s somewhat unreal to me that I’ll be doing this soon. I’m afraid.

Stone sculpting is to me, at this point, like Michael Stipe. I’ve been in love with him since I was nine. I’ve been married to him. I’ve written a series of articles on my Search for Michael Stipe, in which I’ve scoured such places as Athens, GA, Westpoint, NY, Spain, the organic section at Kroger, the men’s room in various stores, and my back yard just to be sure. I have a long history of longing where he is concerned. My dreams in which I meet Michael are among the most vivid and interesting of all of my dreams. But the most realistic ones are the ones in which he either blows me off, or I realize that knowing him for real just isn’t as good as longing to know him.

For so long I’ve wanted to sculpt marble, and I always meant to do something about it. But now, it’s slipping out of the realm of my dreams, and easing into my life. I’m going to do it for real. And what if I don’t like it? What if I suck at it so bad that there’s no way I’ll ever be good? What if I just… can’t?

This fear is disarming, but in a similar way, it’s somewhat exciting. I’m going to be doing something that I’m not sure I ever really thought I’d be doing. It’s hard to say now if my dream was ever really more than that. But now it is. Now it is.

Save the world. Hm. This is a particularly item on my list just now. I realized pretty early on with my position at St. Paul that it’s really not a long-term sort of position for me. It’s fun. I like the teens. There’s oftentimes low pressure. It’s busy. It changes a lot. It keeps me on my toes. But there’s also this sort of… dissatisfaction that follows me around there. I don’t really feel like I’m doing anything all that important, so when things really go wrong, I have to wonder why the hell I’m doing this.

I think back to Wing Zone. That was such an easy and fun job—the best in those terms that I’ve had so far. But there was really no sense of satisfaction at the end of the day, and ultimately, that’s why I couldn’t have stayed there longer than I did. I think back to Cedar Grove, and boy was there ever a sense that I was doing something important. But it was a job that could just wear on you. And it did. Quickly. There was so much fighting—struggles with the teens, poor treatment by management, and dude, I surely did not get paid enough for all that.

Holy Cross was really great in that sense for me, because I felt good about what I was doing, and it was hard. For two years I feel I did good there. But I knew it was time to move on. I was not growing in that position. I wasn’t going anywhere, I wasn’t accomplishing anything new, or changing really. And while I miss it sometimes, I don’t long to go back there. I don’t think I made a bad move by moving away. But here, at St. Paul, as Youth Minister, I feel like… I’m not the one meant for this job. Not ultimately, at any rate.

I’ve spent the last few days, since I published that rant, dreaming and fantasizing about moving to a different placement and all the wonders and joys that will come of being at a place in which I fit better. But that’s all dreams and fantasies. I know when it comes down to it that I have stuff I need to do here. And I just need to focus on those stuffs and get them done. And eventually, I might move to another position. But I’m not done here yet.

I’m a fantasy writer. I have a vivid imagination. I can see things because I want to see them. Right now, I can see a tall green man sitting on my bicycle and waving at me. And there have been times in my life where my dreams could seep into my reality and sometimes it would feel like they were taking over and I never quite knew what to do with them. You can’t kill your dreams, after all. Because then what do you have left?

But you do have to do something with them. You have to take your list and set about it. You have to realize that your fantasies of another job really do say something about your dissatisfaction at your current one. And you have to make a choice—do your job or move on.

I’m gonna do my job this year. And I may move on later this year, but right now, I’m staying put. And I’m not gonna dream about moving on until it’s time to move on, and then I’ll put that dream straight into action. I’m gonna save the world this year by saving myself. By saving this year. By making the choice and living and doing what I can where I am. I’m gonna DO, dammit.

As far as improving and testing my health and stamina, I’m gonna run the AIDS Marathon this year. I’ll be hitting you all up for money when the time comes. You know, of course, that I’ve spent the last two and a half years educating teens and young adults about HIV and other STD prevention. It’s very important to me. And I’ve run a marathon before. Not very well, but I finished it and I didn’t die. So this year I’m gonna run a marathon and raise money for the AIDS foundation of Chicago, and if I get to go and run the marathon in Ireland because of it, so much the better. I’ve always wanted to go to Ireland. And if I run the AIDS Marathon in Ireland in less than four hours, then bully for me. That’s my goal. That’s three goals in life all tied up into one event—raise money to help stop the spread of HIV, run a marathon, and go to Ireland. It’s like a sign from God, complete with my name in neon green letters.

Which happens too. That whole ‘sign from God’ thing. It’s time. It’s time to move forward with my spirituality from where I’ve been this past year. One of my boys told me recently that he’s not really an atheist, despite what he says. He’s not agnostic either. He believes in God, but he’s mad at him. Because God let his brother die. Because God lets this neighborhood be as it is. Because God lets all this violence and squalor exist. Because God lets my boys live in it, or try to at any rate.

I might have mentioned, I didn’t really get along so well with 2005. And my spirituality has suffered because of it. I’ve grown cynical. Angry. Disillusioned. I’ve grown afraid to express my true beliefs, because I’m afraid of being judged. Because I’m afraid of being wrong. Because I’m afraid of being stomped on if I open myself up.

So here’s a short story. The other day, yes, the day after my I-hate-my-job-I’m-a-complete-fuck-up rant, I took thirteen of the kids ice skating. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to be there with them. I didn’t want to ice skate (because I don’t know how). There were a lot of reasons. But I went because sometimes you just have to go, no matter what the reasons not to. I laid down the law with my teens and we drove to the park and we rented our skates and I stepped onto the ice and I was reaffirmed that this was, in fact, a very bad idea.

I clung to the wall, with a small group of the teens. A few of them went rushing off because they skate pretty well. A few began making their way around the perimeter, clinging to the wall. A few had not yet stepped skate onto the ice. I stood there with my small group for a minute or so, and then thought, Dude, this is stupid.

I turned to one kid, Nicolas, and said, “Nick, let’s go.”

He expressed his opinion that that was perhaps not a great idea since we might fall, although he phrased it in a slightly more eloquent fashion.

So I said, “Let’s make a pact then. We’ll both go. And if you fall down, I’ll fall down too. And if I fall down, you fall down too. That way, neither of us will be alone on the ice.”

He thought this was a good idea, and pushed himself off from the wall. Within fifteen seconds, he fell flat on his back. A few people were laughing at him. I yelled, “Nick!”

As soon as he turned, I fell too. And he laughed.

And then—I wasn’t afraid of falling anymore. Because I already had. So I got up and began to skate. And I fell down a few more times that day. And I busted my nose up, and it still hurts. But it was all okay.

So that’s why I need to not be afraid of stepping back into my spirituality. Because I am going to fall. And I am going to be judged. And I am going to get hurt. And I am going to be wrong. And I am going to get stomped.

And then I am going to keep going. Because life doesn’t end when it hurts. Life doesn’t end with a bad year, or with a job that dissatisfies you. Life continues, and you must live it.

Because there’s really only one alternative, figurative or otherwise, and I’m not ready for that one just yet.