The Sunshine Transition


Has anyone ever told you that  “things will look better in the morning”?

I was never a fan of that saying…I’m not a huge fan of any of those phrases that people throw out there when they really don’t know what else to say. “It is what it is.” “Whatever will be will be.” And don’t get me started on “everything happens for a reason”…gag

But, getting back to the hand at order, I’m so bad at see things better in the morning. In fact, its usually the opposite for me. I’ll have all my great ideas and dreams in the evening and, come morning, when I’m reviewing them in the shower…where all good reflections occur… I begin to crumble. My resolve weakens and, when faced with the actual idea of putting my thoughts into actions, my confidence plummets.

I’ve termed this personal phenomenon the “sunshine transition”, as if any ray of light that touches my hopes and dreams turns them into the scared mice I try to ignore the signs of in my pantry.

It happens more than I would like it to. Apparently, I’m a very brave person after the dinner hour and can solve all of the world’s problems, but only in theory. Because when the sun comes up, the doubt comes with it.

What if I don’t have all the facts? What if the person I need on my side doesn’t agree? What if I make a fool of myself? What if I fail?

The last two are the hardest: failure, or even the appearance of failure, have kept me from many things and still haunt most of my decision making processes. I feel that today. I will probably feel that in some way 20 years from now.

But what does failure do? It proves that I’m flawed and broken and vulnerable. It shows that I’m not in charge. It reminds me that I’m in desperate need of a Savior.

So, I will try to choose to let the sunlight in and not be afraid. I will remind myself that it’s not my job to be perfect, it’s my job to try. And, most of all, I will once again surrender to my calling to let Jesus be my Savior, because I would be a really bad one.



What do you do?


I sat in the office of my Ecclesiology professor anxiously as he read ALOUD the answers I had written to the assigned questions. Not really out of the ordinary, since it’s an independent study and all of our meetings take place in his office as he looks over my work. But there is still something nerve wracking about hearing your own thoughts read back to you.

He pauses as we chat about the Apostles and the role of Judaism in the early church.

“You’re a nurse, right?”

“Ummm, no.”

“Oh. I just assumed because of your name-tag and purple shirt. The nursing students wearing purple tops during their clinicals. So, what do you do again?”

Ugh. Double Ugh.

Ugh #1 (the smaller of the ughs): We have met before. We have had this conversation before. Repeating myself makes me feel unseen, Father. And, yes, I know we will probably have this conversation again.

Ugh #2: I hate this question. This goes even beyond a hatred of talking about myself. The reason I hate this question is twofold (apparently everything is going to be twofold today):

Reason number one I hate this question is that the answer is not simple. I cannot finish this conversation in one or two words. I envy people with succinct titles. Teachers. Doctors. Accountants. Astronauts. Princesses.  I am usually lucky if I can wrap up this answer within 20 minutes. It’s complicated.

Here it is in a nutshell: My paid jobs are two part time jobs squished together to form a full time job so that I can enjoy benefits. Most days, it feels like two full time jobs with part time hours. They are both in ministry positions, one in direct service of college students and one at a more administrative level at our diocesan offices. Both are very important, time consuming and, at times, brain-meltingly stressful. Beyond my paid work, I can see the finish line of receiving my Master’s degree, but I’m not quite there yet. Oh, and after that I try to fit in taking care of a house, being a mom (to a nine month old who’s new favorite way of communicating is bloodcurdling screams) , a wife (to a wonderful husband who also works way too hard at too many jobs) and a human.

That last one is debatable. I think humans have sleep and nutritional requirements I’m not meeting.

to do


Reason number two that I hate being asked what I do is that I’m not in love with the answer.  I like the answer well enough.I like that ministry is actually a job, since most days it doesn’t really feel like work. I like paying bills. I like health insurance. I like feeding my family. I like not having to serve fries and medium Diet Cokes to total strangers. I like being useful.

I don’t like having to split my focus between two communities that deserve more. I don’t like the hours. I don’t like the stress. I don’t like dropping my daughter off at a babysitter. I don’t like the thanklessness. I don’t like calls that inform me that I am allowing Satan to corrupt our children. (true, and very long, story)

Now, I’m not under any false impression that I am going to love any career path I take 100% of the time. And, while I still hold out for a lottery win so that I can stay home with my family full time, I’m not under any delusion that our mortgage or student loan debt is going to magically disappear and give me that opportunity. But I can get so bogged down in the labels and the titles and the logged hours and…and…and…

It’s so easy to forget my purpose in the midst of my roles, both paid and unpaid. I’m supposed to help other people get to heaven and I work to be able to see them there myself. End of statement.


Easier said than done, right? True. I’m not saying being a good Catholic Christian is “easier” than my day jobs, which just happen to be ministry related. In fact, it’s actually probably a million times harder.

My point, I think, in all of this rambling is that I let the little, unimportant worldly things get in my way. And I let it happen all the time. I get bogged down and wallow in my hopelessness. I let the dark win.

And, maybe even a bigger problem would be that I let all the “what do you do?” questions cloud my view of answering the real question: “Who are you?”

So, maybe that’s the lesson for the day:I am more than what I do. Or what I don’t do.

What I do will change. Who I am will not.

And who am I?
Well, at my very core, I am loved deeply by my Creator. And once I come back to that realization, which seems like a daily journey sometimes, I can do anything.



Thoughts on my Fitbit (oh, hey 2017!)

I had a Fitbit once upon a time in my other life (you know, pre-home ownership, pre-marriage, pre-baby). My former employer gave them out as a way to increase wellness and challenge the coworkers, which was fun. But all good things must be given back when you change jobs.

So, I recently treated myself to an on-sale newer, fancier type. You guys, this thing is so intense now! Working my way to goals and such, I’ve had lots of strangely deep reflective thoughts on my new fitness toy.

In brief:

  • The ‘bit (look at me, trying to be hip) vibrates when I need to move more. And, you know what, I actually listen! Weird. I wish this existed for other tasks: *Do laundry!* *Get gas!* *Sleep!* *Pray!*…and I wish I responded the same way.
  • This thing tells time. So I save money on all the watches I don’t buy. But, the most frustrating thing in the world (at the moment, I’m sure something new and frustrating-er will come across my radar soon) is that there is the TINIEST but definitely noticeable delay between the time I flick my wrist and when the digital display tells me the time. I’m making a mental note to remember to tease that out for a deep theological reflection at a later date.
  • It praises me when I do good things. Like drinking my goal amount of water or taking 250+ steps in an hour. I didn’t realize how much I needed that. In fact, this morning I just said out loud (ok, it was via text but it totally still counts) that I feel very needy for recognition these days…and then I proceeded to do a Litany of Humility while pacing my office (gotta get those steps in!) You know what feels even needier though, asking for that praise. Whether it be from coworkers, friends or my husband, that is not something you will willingly find me do in any direct way but that doesn’t mean I don’t need it. It just means I’m a coward when it comes to expressing that need. Especially from God. How selfish does it seem to ask God for His time or a sign that you are the biblical “good and faithful servant”? My answer would be “about as selfish as asking my 7 month old to stop crying until my Netflix binge is over” (oh, I can’t even joke about that…it hurts my heart!)

From the desire of being: esteemed/love/extolled/honored/praised/preferred to others/consulted/approved…

Deliver me, Jesus.

Clearly I have no answers to anything above, but that doesn’t mean the Fitbit will quit asking.